As Mexico emerged as a young nation, its self-identity was shaped not only by its past but also its present. Determining what that identity is and its impact on Mexico’s representative history can be seen in their displays at several World’s Fairs from 1876-1939. The key to understanding this identity and what was chosen to represent it on such a global scale can be seen in their social, political, and cultural changes that occurred from 1898-1939, looking not just at Mexico’s indigenous and colonial history, but also on events unfolding in Mexico at the time. How this identity was explored and displayed in an effort to create a connection to not only a global audience, but also to an American one is important as attention will be paid to the relationships not only between the United States and Mexico but also the viewer and the artifacts as they experienced tangible evidence of the struggles and triumphs of Mexico’s emerging and evolving national identity.

What is a national identity? A national identity is simply the sense of a country or nation as a cohesive whole, which are represented by distinctive traditions, culture, and language. In this case, Mexico will go through many changes and as their national identity develops, so does their representation at world fairs from 1876-1939.[1] Eric Storm notes that world fairs were global platforms of exchange, a place where countries learned how to shape their national identities. He further explores the idea that national identities are to a larger context the product of globalization and the world’s fairs will function as an international audience. The need for larger displays and pavilions will become popular and become a place where national identity construction could truly take place, which is evidenced by Mexico from the period 1876 to 1939.[2]

To begin, a brief history of Mexico is important to understand the main political influence behind the decisions made at world fairs from 1876-1939. Politically, Mexico goes through roughly 50 governments in its first 40 years. In 1876, Mexico will find new leadership that emerges from a coup by Porfirio Díaz and will last for the next 34 years, until 1910. [3] According to Sven Schuster, Porfirio Díaz will invest heavily in the study of history, archaeology, and anthropology in an effort to give Mexico its national identity. He re-established the National Museum in 1865 with a special section for archaeology in 1887 and in 1885 the Bureau of Inspection and Conservatism was founded under the direction of archaeologist Leopold Bartres. [4]

While Porfirio Díaz generally seemed interested in portraying Mexico as advanced, more often than not, the focus seems to be more on a new wave of Indianism or celebrating the Pre-Columbian past, specifically reflecting a more neo-Aztec motif. Key influences for the displays tend to be about the overall theme of the fair and how it relates to each country. This also seemed to determine where countries were placed in spaces and how they interacted. Mexico was pitted across from the United States in the 1876 World’s Fair in Philadelphia where the push was to showcase the greatness of America.

The end of the nineteenth century saw World Fairs in Philadelphia (1876), Paris (1889) and Chicago (1893). These fairs showcased Mexico under the leadership of Porfiro Díaz and showed an emerging national identity based on its new leadership. The Porfiriato, as it is often referred to, aimed to show progress, order and a newly unified country. According to Robert Rydel, the Philadelphia World Fair in 1876 emphasized national unity and essentially America’s Manifest Destiny while also providing hope for the future as the last one hundred years were examined. The decision on where and how the countries would be displayed came under the guise of America taking the less desirable location and giving more ideal spots to both European, Asian, and Latin American countries. This put Mexico and Brazil directly across from the United States which very well could have had an impact on the perception of Mexico compared to the United States.[5]

The display in Philadelphia marked Mexico’s first official entry into the international exhibition and while it did not have the resources to create a comprehensive display, it did prove itself as a nation rich in natural resources. With the backdrop of revolution in Mexico and the takeover of Porfirio Díaz, Mexico did find a place at the world fair. While Mexico was reduced to a small area of the Main Building, it did use the space well and divided its artifacts into various groups including staple products, manufactures, and mineral specimens which will have displays of silver.[6] Overall, the national identity of Mexico was that of honoring the past and looking to the future, perhaps hopeful. The display may have been smaller, and the United States may have been a larger presence, but the natural resources and ability for patrons to interact with Mexico was important. It did show that Mexico could in fact compete with other nations. The picture of the Mexican Pavilion offers a glimpse at its enticing display.

While Philadelphia may have been Mexico’s first foray into the World Fair market, it continued to grow and expand its visibility. What national identity did Mexico display in 1876? Perhaps the answer is simple, a relatively young, new nation trying to figure that out. By playing on its natural resources, it honored both the past and the future. Looking at the Paris World Fair of 1889, those behind the Mexican exhibition wished to focus on the importance of education specifically on the scientific discourse on race. How to handle Pre-Columbian indigenous history was the focus of many of these exhibitions. Is the indigenous past proof of inferiority or that which should be celebrated? For most of their exhibitions, the past seemed to dictate the identity, even if it was not always desirable by the elites.

The display in Paris 1889 is further proof of this. Sven Schuster considered Mexico an antique tragedy that gave birth to a new hybrid civilization, not necessarily a truly national style. Under Porfirio Díaz, the struggle over the national self-image will emerge as race and nation are now connected due to racial factors shaping Mexico’s destiny. The display in Paris will be different yet, instead of solely showcasing the modernity of Mexico, it will once more celebrate its pre-colonial past. The Paris World Fair in 1889 will be a celebration of the one-hundred-year anniversary of the French Revolution. It also featured human zoos, giant dioramas, Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, and the Eiffel Tower. Mexico and other Latin American countries emphasized the progressiveness of their original inhabitants. A vision of the vanquished as an alternative perspective from the Spanish will give a greater voice to the post-conquest Aztec as it is integrated into Mexican National History.[7] According to Shelley Garrigan, these fairs were spectacular instruments of mass communication that allowed a medium for self-conscious displays of nationhood to occur. The Paris World Fair was a venue for the Porfiriato to showcase advancement. Mexico created the Aztec Palace which featured deities, symbols, glyphs, and sculptures, though not all belonged to the Aztec to honor the past. Schuster noted this was an Indianist project and citing Mauricio Tenorio Trillo, based on discussions of the appropriate image of Mexico and its search for an authentic identity that combined the pre-Hispanic and neo-classical elements. While the outside structure celebrated the past, according to Garrigan, the inside offered a more modern display including raw materials, geography, education, production and science. [8] Mexico did well in some ways to bridge the gap in its national identity as it celebrated the past while looking to a brighter future. Once more, the national identity of Mexico is a hybrid between honoring the peoples of the past and those that came as a result of the Spanish.

A shift in ideals will occur from Paris to Chicago as Porfirio Díaz had personally opted for Peñafiel’s Aztec Palace but eventually regretted the decision as his main focus was to show the world that Mexico was a contender. He was interested in modernization with the help of foreign investment and to celebrate Mexico’s economic growth along with its now more enlightened and superior ruler. With this idea, Mexico’s identity was changing to be more than its Pre-Columbian past once more. The Chicago World Fair of 1893 featured displays designed to the latest scientific findings with a strong focus on archaeological elements while also celebrating the discovery of America. In Chicago, Porfirio Díaz wanted to showcase a hacienda, but his vision was replaced by the “Ruins of Yucatan” once more drawing on the Pre-Columbian past. In Chicago, Mexico had a smaller display due to financial problems as tensions mounted between the idea of Hispanism or the cultural bonds between Spain and its former colonies and Pan-Americanism or the cultural exchange & political equality between sister republics. The Ruins of Yucatan once more made the indigenous past more visible in Mexico’s national identity.

Beginning in 1910, Porfirio Díaz will start to lose power as Mexico will be thrust into revolution. From 1910 to 1940, new leadership emerged in Mexico and more than that, the world will also see the First World War, a global depression, and the start of the Second World War. After Díaz and then Madero, Mexico will experience anarchy until around 1917 with the creation of a new constitution. The First World War pitted the United States and Mexico against each other in some ways due to the Zimmerman Telegram but after the war, a status quo relationship seemed to resound once more with the United States in a more dominant role. After that, a series of revolutions as various groups tried to take control of Mexico.

From 1928-1934, the Maximato controlled Mexico which was during Mexico’s representation at the Chicago World Fair of 1933, The Century of Progress. According to Zahra Moss, US concessionaires and the Mexican government used this fair as an opportunity to define symbols of Mexican national identity in the wake of the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). Mexico’s display was based on a major archaeological discovery, the ruins of Monte Alban in the southern state of Oaxaca which is considered the largest discovery of indigenous artifacts crafted without the use of rotary tools. Why use this display in the midst of so much change and both political and social issues in Mexico at this time? According to Moss, the decision was based on the construction of a historical narrative that once more celebrated Mexico’s more indigenous past. With each emerging conflict, government and discovery, Mexico seemed to focus on the past. With the discovery of the Monte Alban treasure, it gave new focus to the greatness that was their past when the future seemed to be somewhat chaotic and uncertain. [9]

Finally, Mexico will once more undergo new leadership in 1934 which will last into the beginning of World War II. Lázaro Cárdenas or the People’s Hero will come into power in 1934 with real change taking place, seemingly for the better. Miriam Österreich noted that the 1939 New York World Fair had the goal of overcoming the Great Depression culturally and narrowed the focus to national US interest over Pan-American ones. This fair comes at a time when World War II has already begun in Europe and the US was at the end of its own Great Depression. Mexico will be featured in two ways, first by participating in “The World of Tomorrow” display and then in the second season of this fair, in the “Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art” display at the Museum of Modern Art. Mexico’s display featured many pieces of art and photography juxtaposing the past and the present. In many ways it was a montage of pre-Hispanic archaeological artifacts with dominant themes of Mexican arts and crafts from Pre-Columbian to contemporary and based on tourism. One of the more prominent artists featured was Luis Márquez whose art will later be moved to the MoMA. This display, more than the others, gave Mexico a national identity, that it could be both modern and nostalgic or reminiscent of the past. They could in fact be both and that to create a truly unified nation, one must include all people, the indigenous peoples from before colonization and those that came as a result. [10]

Regarding Mexico and the many World Fairs they participated in, their struggle between the past and present seemed to play out each time. Lisa Munro notes that an exhibitionary culture developed in the late 19th century and with it, increased visibility of world fairs, national museums, and department stores, allowing new cultural attitudes to flourish and knowledge to be shared. This can be seen in each of Mexico’s displays mentioned. She concludes that fairs allowed all those who entered to experience images and tangible objects that showcased the elite while appealing to lower socioeconomic groups.

Ideas of nationalism, colonialism and industrialization helped influence people in their everyday lives. This is the case with Mexico and its national identity. In almost every case, leadership wanted to present Mexico as an example for a more modern future, but ultimately what was celebrated was the past. Each display examined, had a strong connection to the pre-Columbian, pre-Hispanic past while slowly incorporating modern components of science and modern ideals. Events in Mexican history shaped this, and this new hybrid civilization did in fact emerge. [11]

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In early December of 1959, Anastas Mikoyan, the Soviet Union’s first deputy premier and one of its most formidable political figures, shouted "Viva México!" to a group of oil workers in the small Veracruz city of Poza Rica. A loud "Viva Rusia!" in reply followed. He added: "I love Mexico because no one is afraid of the word revolution." [1]

Since the beginning of the twentieth century Mexico and the Soviet Union shared a long history of class struggle and an anti-imperialist agenda. The former was the first country in the Western Hemisphere to acknowledge the latter’s statehood in 1924, Mexican communist groups campaigned to relieve hunger in the Volga region just two years prior, and President Lázaro Cárdenas and painter Frida Kahlo were among those who warmly welcomed Leon Trotsky to their home country in 1937. [2]

Yet, relations remained relatively cool until Nikita Khrushchev personally announced the shift in policy towards support of non-Communist developing countries in order to expand Soviet influence during the 21st Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in early 1959. [3] Mexico was undoubtedly one of the targets, but some questions remain. What factors created favorable conditions for the Soviet Union to identify Mexico as a potential recipient of its influence and, on the other hand, what were Mexican motivations for opening up to rapprochement with the Socialistic Block? How did the Soviet government attempt to exert its power and how did the Mexican elites respond to these advances?

Multiple factors created favorable conditions for possible cooperation between Mexico and the USSR during the era. Mexican economic prospects appeared rather dull by the end of the 1950s. No doubt, Latin America was of great importance to the US. Still, Washington’s policymakers consistently ignored the region’s frustrations regarding the lack of postwar settlement. Latin America’s exclusion from the Marshall Plan was particularly disheartening. [4] Eisenhower’s administration pursued economic policy of lower tariffs and private investments in place of inflows of public capital. US reluctance to support potentially undemocratic or corrupt regimes restricted the area’s economic growth. [5] Meanwhile, Partido Revolucionario Institucional had to underwrite further agrarian reforms and an expansion of post-World War II industrialization efforts through private foreign capital. Unequal trade terms between the US and Mexico were creating dependency on Washington and stunted the country’s progress. [6] Ideology also contributed to the ongoing neglect as Eisenhower’s administration pursued a neoliberal agenda of private industries, weak labor codes, and limited social services. [7]

In addition to lack of financial resources and the deficit in the balance of payments (the consequences of First World protectionism), Mexican mining, farming and other industrial sectors suffered from low commodity prices. [8] As the US was accounting for 70-80% of Mexico’s foreign trade turnover during the late 1950s and early 1960s, President López Mateos was seeking to reduce the country’s dependence on Washington by participating in the Latin American free trade zone, broadening business relations with Western European countries, and opening up to the possibility of cooperation with the USSR. [9] In addition, the President was able to use the Left’s defense of the principles of sovereignty and solidarity to support his strategy of diversification and internationalism. [10] These years were crucial for the shaping of a new Mexican Third World global pivot identity and its drive to actively participate in the world-wide Non-Aligned Movement. In other words, The Soviet Offensive fell on fertile Mexican grounds.

After Stalin’s death Moscow had limited political and economic relations with Latin America. Nikita Khrushchev laid a foundation for improvements by launching a Peaceful Coexistence doctrine in 1955. He personally announced the shift in policy towards support of non-Communist developing countries aiming to solidify Soviet influence on them at the 1959 twenty-first party congress. [11] The strategy encompassed the new approach to Global South, renewed focus on the world’s peripheries, and supported liberation movements. [12] The Soviets charged the Western block with “imperialism”, “cosmopolitanism”, and destruction of cultures. The objectives were to undermine US influence, to portray a favorable picture of Soviet life, and to establish connections between various institutions - all with the ultimate goal of smoothing out the path for an eventual “ascension of local communists to power”. [13]

The Russian advance in Mexico began in November 1959 with the Soviet exhibit at the capital’s Auditorio Nacional. Anastas Mikoyan arrived in Mexico City to assist the inauguration of the Soviet Exhibition of Science, Technology and Culture. Following an aggressive advertising campaign, Mikoyan and López Mateos pronounced its official opening. [14] The exposition remained open for twenty-five days and welcomed over a million of Mexican spectators. Showcases featured vehicles, industrial oil equipment, bulldozers, coal mining machines, cultural vitrines, and agricultural tools. However, the most popular display objects were the Lunik and Sputnik spacecrafts. [15] Although not without some criticisms, the exhibit notably boosted the Soviet prestige. Leaflets, press conferences, and publications supplemented propaganda efforts. The Russian blitz also consisted of Mikoyan’s touring of industrial Mexico and his multiple speeches, including one addressing the Mexican Senate. The CIA secretly reported: “His attacks on the policies and activities of the United States and of US firms in Latin America were combined with the reiteration of Soviet interest in increased trade and willingness to extend development credits to Mexico.” [16]

The Russians appeared to offer economic enticements. The Deputy Minister of Foreign Trade S.A. Borisov accompanied Mikoyan with the intent to sell tractors, printing machines, and other industrial goods valued at about 2.8 million Mexican pesos. [17] Economic flirtation continued through Senator Manuel Moreno Sánchez’s arrival to the USSR in May 1960 and through a discussion of trade prospects between A. A. Pavlenko and Alfredo Perera Mena (head editor of “Comercio Exterior” magazine) at the Soviet embassy in Mexico City in June 1962.

The USSR deployed its power in Latin America through technologies, symbolic systems, business, communication, and culture. Cultural pursuits were ubiquitous, and, by all accounts, the most successful. Diego Rivera underwent treatment for cancer in the Soviet Union in 1956. Over a year later, the Russians send their best artists, composers, athletes, and chess masters to Mexico. The Medical scholarship program that included Latin American countries opened in 1959. [18] Around the same time the Piatnitiskiy Folk Choir was touring across the country, two Soviet film festivals and multiple classical music performances entertained Mexican intellectuals and the general public. [19]

Soviet-Mexican relations undoubtedly went through a period of intensification during the late 1950s and early 1960s. However, Moscow’s political and economic influences on Mexico lacked momentum. The country’s strategy of differentiation did not succeed mainly due to the strong economic and financial integration and interdependence that Mexico and the US maintained throughout the mid-1960s. There is lack of documentation that proves that the US exerted direct pressure, but Mexico’s markets heavily relied on US preferential credit lines, like those granted by the Export/Import Bank or the IMF. These flows could “dry up” at any time. [20] In addition, the Mexican consumers were familiar with US products, Soviet goods were not known to the public and would have required intense advertising. [21]

Yet, there were more pragmatic reasons for the fiasco; those included logistical difficulties, underdevelopment of Soviet financial credit mechanisms, some naïveté in dealing with Mexican politicians and, most importantly, internal divisions within the Mexican political establishment and the Mexican Left.

In spite of the apparent lack of success in development of the stable political and economic ties between the two states in the late 1950s and early 1960s, diplomatic and cultural bonds solidified, and initial undertakings paved the way for more successful interactions in the following decade of the 1970s. The presidency of Gustavo Díaz Ordaz (1964–1970) was a period of cooled relations as he had turned away from the agenda of ‘independence’. [22] Moscow had to wait until 1973 to sign a bilateral commercial treaty with Mexico. [23]

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It started as a makeshift July 4th meal. It came from someone’s mother’s recipe from the Old World. It was stolen from a line cook. Julius Caesar invented it himself. Okay, maybe not that last one, but the origin of the Caesar salad is decidedly a recipe for cultural exchange and thrill. What we do know is that the now ubiquitous food first appeared on menus in Tijuana, México in the 1920s.

One story goes that Abelardo Cesare (Caesar) Cardini, an Italian immigrant, invented the salad at Caesar’s Hotel [Figure 1] - or maybe it was one of his cooks and fellow immigrant Livio Santini, who claims his mother used to make the dish back in Italy.i Another version also helps explain the source of another name for the dish – the Aviator’s salad. In this version, Cardini was entertaining a group of U.S. airmen on leave from San Diego’s Rockwell Field Air Base for July 4th when he ran out of ingredients in his kitchen. He whipped together some romaine, olive oil, eggs, Parmesan cheese, garlic, pepper, lemons, Worcestershire sauce, salt, powdered mustard, vinegar, and bread, and named the dish after his hungry customers. [1] When the dish’s popularity took off, he changed the name to Caesar salad, perhaps futilely trying to avoid confusion about the dish’s origin. Or, perhaps because alternate history argues that it was Cardini’s brother Alessandro who cooked for the airmen that day, Caesar wanted the credit for his own namesake. [2]

Caesar’s Hotel exists today as Caesar’s restaurant, and unsurprisingly, they support Caesar’s and the hotel’s claims to the dish. [3] Caesar’s daughter Rose supports the July 4th version but claims her dad invented the dish earlier, back when he operated a nearby Tijuana restaurant in 1924. [2]

Due to the popularity of the dish, it is no wonder that multiple people would claim credit for its creation. The way that the history of the Caesar salad has become a myth of its own says something about the time and place it came from, as does the man who – allegedly – invented it.

Caesar Cardini took a circuitous route south. He was born in Baveno, Italy in 1896. [4] When he emigrated from Italy aboard The Corsican, he was headed for Canada where he arrived in Quebec City in 1912. [5] [Figure 2] Ten years later, he had already made it to southern California. The city of Santa Ana registered Caesar’s 1924 marriage to Camille Stump, whose family moved to California from Illinois sometime before 1920. [6] Cardini’s arrival in Southern California was probably well before his marriage, as by this time, he had already worked in both Sacramento and San Francisco and was operating a restaurant across the border in México. Their daughter Rosina (Rosa) was born in San Diego in 1928 and the family moved to Los Angeles by 1940 where Caesar remained until his death of a brain hemorrhage in 1956, aged 60. [7]

Cardini was one of more than 90,000 Italian-born migrants to California in the 1920s, but Cardini’s take on the “American Dream” is colored by broader trends in the development of the U.S.-México borderlands of the time period. [8]

Southern California in the early twentieth century was an area of hot spots – Los Angeles and San Diego, namely – built up by the capital and power brokering of local businessmen who sought to create a prosperous white haven in the West. How much Cardini would have agreed with local boosters’ agenda against a non-white underclass is unclear, but Cardini’s story of entrepreneurialism looks like a small-scale version of the empire-building that California’s business elite carried out at the time.

Critical to the image of the west, and Los Angeles specifically, as a destination for upper-middle-class white migrants was a continual attack on “vice.” Vice – drinking, gambling, partying, sex, or whatever ran contrary to mores of the time – was either relegated to non-white sections of the city or driven out of the city limits altogether. Leading up to and through the Prohibition era, the same businessmen promoting southern California’s image and development profited off the vice racket by operating their own gaming dens and saloons just across the border in Tijuana, México.

The leading resort of the era was Agua Caliente (1928-1935), a place where Hollywood stars and even Washington’s elite could vacation in the México sun and indulge in gambling, drinking, and horse racing without reproach. Agua Caliente made kings out of its operators in its heyday and stands out as the most infamous example of white, American capital fueling the tourism and vice industry in Tijuana.

However, just nearby in downtown Tijuana’s Avenida Revolución, Caesar Cardini operated two different businesses of his own. After working at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco and operating Brown’s Restaurant in Sacramento, he opened a restaurant on Second Street in Tijuana in the early 1920s before Caesar’s Hotel opened. A 1919 advertisement for Brown’s in The Sacramento Union boasts a combination of quality food and musical nightlife, and it stands to reason that this environment would have suited Tijuana’s downtown scene as well. [9] [Figure 3]

Americans crossed the border to escape Prohibition and confining social expectations. The acts outlawed by moralists in the U.S., including the 18th Amendment’s Prohibition or local ordinances against dancing and impropriety, did not end. They just relocated, and for southern Californians, the party simply moved into México. In Tijuana, an industry sprang up to meet this need. There was Agua Caliente just outside of town, but there were also boxing rings, the Ballena saloon’s 215-foot-long bar, the Moulin Rouge brothel, and of course a myriad of restaurants, including Caesar Cardini’s establishments and that of his brother, Alex. [10] Historian Eric Schantz refers to places like Tijuana, which received economic growth due to vice tourism in California’s border zone, the “pleasure periphery.” [11] For Cardini’s part, he turned Caesar’s Hotel into an enticing venue to enjoy the local sights and sounds – a 1932 article in The National City News advertises an annual picnic at the hotel featuring “fine Mexican music” and “Jose Arratia, famous México City tenor.” [12] In line with tastes of the time, Cardini even used his restaurant wealth to help sponsor a $7,000 purse for the Coronado Riding Club’s 1931 horse show. [13]

Cardini’s businesses entertained this clientele and even some of the big names that would have been familiar at Agua Caliente. Julia Child dined at Cardini’s with her family in the mid-1920's, where the man himself prepared their salad tableside. [1] Whether Cardini’s growing reputation was due to the popularity of the Caesar salad or if the salad’s popularity was due to the clientele is a classic “the chicken or the egg” exercise.

Also like other “local” businessmen, Cardini operated in Tijuana but by all accounts, lived full-time in the U.S. The Cardinis are listed at the same address in San Diego through the 1940 Census and then in Los Angeles thereafter. U.S. capital flowed south into Tijuana (and, historians such as Paul Vanderwood and Dina Berger agree, into the greased palms of many Mexican government officials and infrastructure projects) and Tijuana’s profits flowed back north into U.S. bank accounts. Cardini was no exception.

Cardini’s business ventures in Tijuana occupy an interesting moment in the history of México’s tourism industry. In contrast to other future tourism zones in México, Tijuana’s initial attraction was not archaeological ruins or sun-kissed beaches. Vice brought Americans to Tijuana, and that reputation was hard for the city to shake, even as tourism expanded deeper into the country’s interior, took on a new face, nationalized, and diversified.

While Tijuana was a day trip for most Americans, safety concerns and a lack of infrastructure prevented tourists from venturing much further on longer excursions. But just as government agreements helped turn vice dollars into public works in Tijuana, México’s national government began to see the potential in commodifying tourism on a large scale. Tourism offered an “invisible export.” [14] Sure, wide-eyed visitors were keen to try “authentic” Mexican food, listen to military bands, and explore ruins. But what México was really selling was a little piece of its culture; the tourism industry’s true product could not be packed up in any suitcase. Thus, expanding this sector offered a way for México to help balance its import/export scales and pay back foreign debt, prompting an increasingly coordinated push to grow tourism beginning in the 1930s. [14] The Pan-American Highway connected Laredo to México City in 1936, and from there, veins of interconnected roads and travel stops funneled visitors out to Acapulco and Veracruz. [14] By the 1950s, new highway systems and an influx of tourists also turned local cuisines tied to specific Mexican villages into niche restaurant fare meant to lure in tourist dollars – a concept not at all foreign for businessmen like Cardini 20 years prior. [15]

What initially drew visitors to Tijuana is not what sustained and expanded México’s broader tourism industry through the mid-twentieth century. The 19th Amendment was repealed in 1933, and perhaps México’s undercurrent of danger was no longer as enticing as it was prohibitive for prospective tourists because businessmen in both México and the U.S. coalesced to conduct a rebranding on México’s behalf in the 1930s. They sought to change Americans’ impression that vacationing in México was dangerous or that the country lacked proper accommodations, advertising improved highway systems, new resorts, archaeological finds, cuisine, and more. [14] Tijuana’s Avenida did not contribute much to the campaign to clean up México’s image. Today, Tijuana is the fourth-most visited city in México, outranked by Cancún, México City, and Guadalajara. [16] Tijuana is still a tourism destination, but México is just as if not more well-known for its historical, artistic, and nature destinations.

The shift began much earlier, and the rise of an organized Mexican tourism industry as a state-led invisible export goes back to the 1930s when Cardini was at the height of his success in Tijuana. We do not know exactly when Cardini decided to vary his portfolio or why, but it seemed to happen alongside the industry’s broader diversification, although in opposite geographic directions. By the 1950s, he was advertising a new Chef Cardini’s restaurant, this time in Glen Ellen in northern California. [17] Toward the end of his life, Cardini began packaging and shipping his Caesar salad dressing to supermarkets, including Moore’s Market in Palos Verdes, California. [18] A dish that began in a restaurant on the Avenida became a staple on menus across California and a dressing bottled on grocery store shelves. Cardini’s empire had moved north and commodified.

Cooperation between private business and public development democratized Mexican tourism while mass distribution democratized the Caesar salad. Today, Tijuana’s Avenida Revolución lives on, as does Caesar’s Hotel - though now owned and operated by an international corporation that still credits the Cardinis in the institution’s history. Today his dressing is packaged and sold under the brand name “Caesar Cardini’s” owned by the T. Marzetti Company. With so many parties vying for credit for the salad’s invention, it makes sense that varying histories would hone in on a purported restaurant opening day, hotel purchase year, or July 4th visit from a fortuitous patron. However, such narrow myths miss a bigger, more powerful story. An Italian immigrant arrived in Canada in 1912 as a waiter, and by the time of his premature death some 40 years later, he had operated half a dozen restaurants and hospitality ventures in two countries, served some of Hollywood’s brightest stars, and packaged a mass-produced product carrying his name. The Caesar salad is ubiquitous, yet its origin story has heretofore lacked the same notoriety. It has become another export of the Mexican tourism industry. Tangibly, the dish relies upon a billion-dollar romaine lettuce import-export industry linking the economies of the U.S. and México. [19] Intangibly, the story of the Caesar salad says something more about cultural commodification in tourist zones and the outsize influence of private businesspeople in developing an entire region and industry.

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The second largest Volkswagen factory is located in Puebla, Mexico. Volkswagen de Mexico was established in 1964 and construction of the Puebla plant began in January of 1965. In October of 1970, production of the Combi (combination craft vehicle) began. The plant has an area of 3,000,000 square meters with buildings on an area of about 480,000 square meters. In its 50 years, the Puebla plant has produced over 10 million vehicles.

Volkswagen employees the most amount of works in Puebla. In 1970 the plant had only 30 workers, but today that number is at 15,000. Like its own town, the Puebla plant has its own fire station, medical center, five banks, and a travel agency. More than a hundred buses provide free rides to workers who live in the Puebla area. Volkswagen even boasts the biggest restaurant in Latin America: eight separate units; preparing and serving some 14,000 meals each day. The average salary at the Puebla plant is $20,000.

Volkswagen de México has gone through three major stages. The first stage lasts from the 60s to the late 80s, the period in which the company mainly supplied the domestic market. The second stage lasted from the late 80s until the signing of the NAFTA, a time when the world economic plunge forced the company to move production from its plants in the United States to Puebla. In the third and current stage, Volkswagen de México becomes concentrated on exporting. Eighty percent of the Volkswagen vehicles produced are destined for export to more than 120 countries in the world. Two of the most iconic Volkswagen vehicles in Mexico were the Combi and the Vocho.

The Combi is a fifteen-passenger van that has had its seats removed and replaced with small benches. These benches are aligned so that when passengers are seated, they are facing each other and have to hold their bags. It was not difficult to get on the van, people simply pointed their index finger out to hail a Combi when one was approaching on the street. After getting on the van, the passenger would tell the driver where they were going and would pay at the end of the trip. Working class Mexicans in small communities used this mode of transportation to get to and from work. In the 1980s, pesero (a microbus that’s name comes from the fact that in the beginning of this form of transport a flat fee of one peso was charged per ride) owners started using Combis. The government was unable to run a public transportation system that was able to serve the needs of the rapidly growing environment and it caused high demand that made them a very good business.

On October 23, 1967, the first Vocho (Volkswagen Beetle) rolled off the assembly line at the Puebla plant and production lasted until 2003. By 1973, a third of cars sold in Mexico were Vochos and they became one of the most massed-produced vehicles. In Mexico, the Vocho was the car preferred by taxi drivers, but the final blow to production came when Mexico City passed an ordinance requiring that all taxis have four doors, citing safety concerns as their reason. While Vochos might not be in production anymore, they are still everywhere! They are reliable, easy to repair and super cost effective.

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You are awakened by the sound of gunfire. You stumble outside to a night sky filled with the suffocating smell of smoke. More gunshots ring out in the distance, as a harmony of pained, panicked screams swells all around. You look off towards the horizon, and that is when you see it: unfamiliar ships line the shore of your coastal town. These ships, as it turns out, brought with them a veritable brigade of bloodthirsty buccaneers, armed to the teeth with cutlasses and flintlock pistols. Pirates are coursing through the streets of your once-peaceful community, burning homes and taking whatever loot they may find for themselves. The veil of nighttime darkness that hangs over the city is dotted by the orange glow of torches and burning buildings. Flashes of exploding gunpowder light up the coastline, as cannonballs fired indiscriminately from the ships rip apart cathedrals, homes, and whatever unfortunate souls that may find themselves in the line of fire. Surviving the night is no guarantor of safety, either; the raid may go on for days, and even when it ends, another one may be just around the corner.

This is a scenario one might expect in places like Port Royal, Havana, Tortuga, or Nassau. Less likely to come to mind, however, is Mexico, yet this was a brutal reality for the people of San Francisco de Campeche; they lived under the fearsome, looming threat of pirate raids for centuries. Situated in the Bay of Campeche, the so-called “rainbow city” serves as the capital of the Mexican state of the same name. A designated UNESCO World Heritage Site along the old Spanish Main, Campeche was a major hub of maritime activity for most of its history; as such, pirates and buccaneers were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

The earliest recorded pirate activity in the Bay of Campeche dates back to the late-1550s, and it has its roots in one of the region’s most precious natural resources: logwood. The logwood trees of Campeche were a coveted commodity; the British, in particular, sought logwood because it was helpful in dyeing wool, the empire’s most prominent global export. [1] In 1558, a group of English pirates seeking to harvest logwood would set up camp in Laguna de Términos, some 125 miles south of Campeche City. The following year, the attacks began, as French ships started capturing women and holding them for ransom. In August 1561, three ships carrying some 30 pirates came to port in Campeche; after a spree of burning and looting, Spanish reinforcements arrived, killed 15, captured five, and recovered the property that was stolen. Then, in September 1597, the people of Campeche were betrayed by one of their own. A group of pirates, led by one William Parker, were guided to the city in secret by Juan Venturarte, a Campechano local, at which point a brief but bloody battle with armed civilians erupted. Parker and his men retreated, and for Venturarte’s troubles, he “was executed as a traitor by having pieces of his flesh ripped out with a hot iron.” [2]

The closing of the 16th century would not, unfortunately, signify a closing to the pirate-laden chapter of Campeche’s history. It was quite the contrary; the 17th century would see the most consistent – and destructive – pirate activity in the region’s history. In the same century, San Francisco de Campeche (also known as “Campeachy” to the English) would start taking measures to protect itself via fortifications, though progress proved to be slow. In 1610, provincial governor Carlos de Lima y Arellano declared that a fortress be constructed – the first of its kind in Campeche. [3] Some 22 years later, a pirate known as Diego the Mulatto would initiate his first strike on Campeche, sacking the city with ten ships and a multinational crew consisting of buccaneers from Portugal, England, and Holland. [4] He would return four years later, this time attacking a vessel off the coast.

It was in the latter half of the 17th century that Campeche would see its most brutal pirate incursions. The first came in February 1663, when – in an effort to alleviate the difficulties English logwood cutters were having shipping their goods to Jamaica – corsair Christopher Myngs and his deputy, the Dutch pirate Edward Mansvelt, opted to launch yet another attack on the city. Though his forces initially numbered some 1,500, only about 1,000 of them would make it to shore. Even with their depleted forces, Myngs and company were able to seize the town in less than an hour, though it came at a cost. Myngs was seriously wounded in the fighting, and after being taken back to his flagship for treatment, he ceded control to Mansvelt. It was Mansvelt who would negotiate a surrender with Governor Antonio Maldonado de Aldana. After 15 days in Campeche, Myngs and Mansvelt sailed back to Jamaica with 14 seized vessels. [5]

Logwood, captured ships, and local goods were not the only things to which pirates laid claim. That extended to the people of Campeche, as well. The abduction of women for ransom in 1559 was not the only incident of Campechano/a civilians being taken from their homes. A July 1678 attack by George Spurre and John Neville resulted in the capture of some 250 civilians, most of which were Native Mayas; most of them were promptly taken to “Laguna de Términos, where about twenty men and sixty to seventy women, along with many children, were sold into slavery.” [6] In 1685, British Buccaneer Bartholomew Sharp would do the same, capturing Mayas from Campeche and selling them in Bermuda with the permission of the governor. [7]

The most notorious pirate to ever torment the people of Campeche was the Dutchman, Laurens de Graaf (also known as Lorencillo). The closest thing Campeche would have to a recurring foe, de Graaf would first make his presence known to the city in 1672, when he torched two frigates that were under construction. [8] This would prove to be a mere preamble to the hell that he would rain down on the city a little over a decade later. In August of 1685 – the same year that Bartholomew Sharp abducted local Mayas and sold them into slavery – Lorencillo arrived in Campeche alongside fellow pirate, Michel de Grammont, at which point their crews overthrew the city’s defenses and captured some 300 civilians. After being held back en route to Mérida, de Graaf returned to Campeche and executed nine prisoners in the town square, while he and de Grammont’s men tortured many more. The corsairs would remain in the city until September, when they locked the remaining prisoners in boat hulls, sent them to sea, and bombarded them with cannon fire. [9]

The aforementioned attempts at fortification did almost nothing to prevent the pirate onslaughts that afflicted the city for so many years. In 1672, King Charles II approved the construction of fortifications, but it was not until 1680 that Martín de la Torre, a military engineer, would come forward with a final design for the undertaking: an irregularly-shaped hexagonal wall surrounding the city. The project began in 1684, but stalled due to a shortage of funds – just in time for Laurens de Graaf to launch his infamous attack unimpeded. [10] In fact, it was de Graaf’s attack that would prompt a resurgence in construction, which resumed in 1686. By 1704, the project was completed. [11]

By this time, though, pirate activity in the Bay of Campeche had already peaked. There was the odd incursion here or there (including a small-scale, inconsequential encounter with Blackbeard), and a ship would be seized on occasion. [12] So intertwined was piracy with Campeche that the fledgling U.S. government felt its impact in various capacities. In 1792, Thomas Jefferson wrote to George Washington about establishing a commercial treaty with Spain; in this letter, he outlined his desire to mitigate piracy in the gulf. [13] In three separate letters from James Madison, he notes the seizure of three ships in the Bay of Campeche. [14] Clearly, piracy – and its lasting impacts – had not entirely left Campeche, but the days of men going to the market so their wives would not be abducted in a random pirate attack had more or less come to an end. [15]

Piracy is not gone from Campeche. This history of piracy is baked into the city’s DNA. From cuisines to museums, piracy is a staple of its identity; after all, the city’s baseball team is called the Piratas de Campeche, the logo of which is a snarling baseball with an eyepatch and an archetypal red bandana atop its head. Even the city’s architecture – some of its walls are still standing, even today – stands as a stark reminder of its battles against the scourges of the sea.

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There was a strange sight to behold on the shore of Lake Michigan, in Chicago, days before the May 1 opening of the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893. An agave plant in night caps was inside the temporarily erected Horticultural Building. The plant was not tired; nor was it Mexican of origin. It was grown and presented by the United States and started the process of blooming well before opening day of the fair. The buds were dressed in bed attire to block light hoping to trick the plant from blooming and subsequently its death march. The century plant, as many call the agave or maguey, only blooms once. It shoots a quiote from the center of the plant well above the collection of sharp, leathery leaves, reproduces and then dies. [1]

The agave did not make it through the duration of the fair in plant form. What is most notable about this story is not the failure of silly efforts, but that the presentation of a culturally significant Mexican plant is in its natural state presented by the United States, but elsewhere throughout the fair the plant could be found turned into usable goods as presented by Mexico and other’s. The silences and underrepresentation of agave at the Columbian Exposition exemplify the ways in which the motivations of capitalist events like world’s fairs and the ruling Porfirio Díaz government at the time in Mexico.The crossroads that are all shared here is the manipulation of the native plant in the presentation of the plant showcased and ignored agave in such a way that it encapsulates the overarching understanding of not only what role Mexico’s standing was globally but what was held culturally valuable by the ruling class.

Fairs have a long history of being places where cultures meet one another to share goods, ideas, and commodities. However, following the American Civil war there was a sharp shift towards fairs being a ritual of nation-building, progress, productivity, and capitalism. The Columbian Exposition, honoring the 400th anniversary of Cristopher Columbus’s arrival to the Americas, and celebrated civility, profit, and achievements of high European society. [2] The White City, a nickname given to the fair from the incandescent lights and white plaster buildings that shined white in the electric lighting, hosted dozens of countries from around the world to exhibit their arts, agriculture, technology, and popular goods.

Mexican President Porfirio Díaz was synonymous with the Mexico’s participation in the 1893 World’s Fair. When he his rule in Mexico from 1876 to 1911 he promoted American investments in key industries of mining and transportation conforming to the industrial world’s In Mexico, foreign investments drove agriculture, mining and transportation and the representation that was most desirable for developing industrial countries at this world exhibition was marketability and profitability. A push to modernize the country was paired with a movement away from indigenous culture and representation can also be mirrored in the showing at the Columbian Exposition.

Nationalists undertones were present in fairs in the late nineteenth century, much like those asserted by the Mexican government at the time. The Mexican government pushed for a unified and European monoculture. For powerful nations, it was an opportunity to commemorate the achievements and values. Conversely, developing nations saw fairs as a chance to stand on the same stage as global powers and present local raw materials and goods to an international market. [3] The fair was largely paid for by private donations, and those donations steered the manner of the products presented in the fair.

In the crossroads that are all shared here is the manipulation of the native plant in the presentation of the plant in the Columbian Exposition at Chicago in 1893 showcased and ignored agave in such a way that it encapsulates the overarching understanding of not only what role Mexico’s standing was globally.

It is notable that in a few instances the agave plant is in a sense hijacked by non-Mexican entities. In the February 25, 1893, edition of the Chicago Daily Tribune the agave plants was listed as a part of the Horticultural exhibit for New Mexico, the same one wearing night caps. The sisal fibers are given to South Florida. [4] The control of the agave plant at the fair downplayed any additional attention that the plant would have received and mirrored Mexico’s goals on a larger global scale. The government at the time of the 1893 fair was interested in presenting the profitability of Mexico over the culture, and if culture had to fall to the wayside, so be it.

Part of the Mexican display that made it into the fair is recorded in the History of the World’s Fair (1893), “Visitors to the Horticultural Building may look upon the deadly Mexican aguardiente. There are many other kinds of Mexican wines and cognacs in the display, too, as well as licor de Naranja, which is orange juice, and a good display of fruit pastes and jellies. There are agaves, cocoanuts, grapefruits, mosses, and ferns also in the display. Some dried bananas are shown, just to prove that bananas can be dried. The Mexicans take much pride in the purity of their wines. Commissioner J. Miguel Carabay is in charge of the exhibit.” [5] In this description the consumables of Mexico were put in the forefront, things that had the ability to be exported, like dried bananas.

Mexico had an impressive mining and agricultural showing at the fair, winning some 1,195 awards. [6] One was that to Cenobio Sauza for his brandy mescal, which oddly was left from the account published during or shortly after the fair. The Sauza tequila family, began exporting their distilled agave liquor to the United States as early as 1873 and a push to call the beverage created from specifically the blue weber agave plant. The Sauza family, represented by Cenobio Sauza, participated in the Chicago fair of 1893, and symbolized a turning point for the once indigenous plant. José Orozco writes in “Tequila and the Redemption of Mexico’s Vital Fluid”, “Many mezcaleros like Sauza sympathized with the national government’s modernization project because they understood how Western narratives of Mexican degeneration affected the reputation of their product at home and abroad. Specifically, they were troubled by the fact that foreigners seemed not to distinguish between their mezcal and their alcoholic beverage that many foreign and domestic observers saw as a significant impediment to modernity, pulque.” [7]

Priorities of the Díaz leadership are mirrored in the Sauza tequila family. Over time the pulque, or agave plant drink had lost favor in larger operations due to shelf stability. When considering what would be presented at the fair only the shelf stable and exportable, they went and further modified the plant for it to be a safe product, but thus stripped away the tradition. This is an important parallel that solidifies the relationship between World’s Fairs in general and people and economies that hold profit and modernity over tradition and true history of cultures.

In The Official Directory of the World’s Columbian Exposition (1893) the agave plant gets no mention at all in the “Foreign Participation” under Mexico’s name. In fact, the only mention of the agave at all is credited to Ecuador through sisal being produced into ropes and cords also in the Agricultural Building. [8] What is mentioned under Mexico their features in the Department of Mines and Mining, the Department of Manufactures and Liberal Arts, and the Department of Agriculture. What is included there is the name Díaz, in reference to Porfirio Díaz’s wife’s interest and the display Mexico presented in the Woman’s Department. This publication represents what culturally was found usable for industry.

In an artistic, unintended act of destiny the deficiency by the maguey plant at the Columbian Exposition, its untimely bloom represented the ways that profit, and power can lead to the manipulation of culturally significant plants. The coming together of people, especially in the Gilded Age, was the beginning of the age of consumerism and that is apparent through the representation and treatment of the agave.

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It was gold that caused the settlement of Alta California. History is repeating itself in Baja California, that New Italy, which is indeed the colophon (Kalifornia) of that great book—the world. The great Peninsula is too good a country to remain any longer a terra incognita.

B.A. Stephens

The Gold Fields of Lower California,

Los Angeles, March 8, 1889[1]

In February of 1889, the largest gold strike in Baja California's history sent thousands of prospectors from the United States to the port city of Ensenada.[2] One enterprising newspaperman, Bascom A. Stephens, an editor of the San Diego Sun, composed a 48-page guide called The Gold Fields of Lower California to assist prospectors hoping to find their fortune in Baja California. The manual provided valuable legal, geographical, and statistical information to help aspiring miners. Those that delved into the companion would have noticed one perk while reading: travelers could avoid annoying import and export taxes if they came to Ensenada as registered colonists of the International Company of Mexico (ICM).[3] In its helpful descriptions, Stephens left out one critical personal detail: he, along with fourteen other individuals, hoped to use this gold rush as a chance to filibuster (forcibly seize) Baja California from Mexico.

After the Mexican-American War, Mexico ceded vast tracts of land to the United States, including present-day California. While negotiating the 1848 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, the Mexican government deemed the coastal location of the Baja Peninsula necessary for national defense and its untapped resources too valuable to cede to the American government.[4] After the Gadsden Purchase ceded Southern Arizona and New Mexico land to the US in 1854, the US government stopped actively pursuing Mexican land. Some American civilians and politicians thought differently, seeking to annex parts of Northern Mexico, including Baja California.

Cavalier Americans continued filibuster attempts between 1850 and 1890, believing parts of Mexico could still be annexed and worrying the Mexican government. In 1876, Mexico’s new President, Porfirio Díaz, tried encouraging foreign investment to modernize Mexico while also bolstering Mexico’s stability and discouraging filibusters. American investments and filibuster expeditions in northern Mexico persisted during the Díaz regime.[5] In 1888 a group of ex-Confederates, California newspapermen, and adventurers styling themselves as the "Secret Order of the Golden Field" (the Order) plotted to bring men posing as miners to annex Baja away from Mexico. When their efforts failed, they tried again in 1890. These two filibusters failed due to overconfident planners revealing their plots to the local media, who exposed their plans. Without enough desire by owner capital to collaborate in the schemes, these failures to seize Baja California effectively ended white, American-led filibusters of Mexico.[6]

The Díaz government passed the Mexican Colonization Act of 1883, drawing foreign eager American interest in Mexico.[7] In 1884, American businessmen George Sisson and Luis Hueller represented the ICM in Mexico City and received a land grant from the Mexican government that spanned most of Baja California's area. The land grant came with resource and mineral rights, but the Order had other plans, namely recruiting miners to assist with their annexation of Baja.[8]

Two factors would arrest the 1888 filibuster's development. The first came from a land speculation bust during the year as investments in the area sputtered. This bust caused the population of San Diego (the American launching point for settlers into Mexico) to fall from 35,000 to 16,000 people. The fatal blow to the 1888 filibuster came from a California newspaper. After hearing of rumors of the filibuster, a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle posed as a potential recruit to speak with Secret Order of the Golden Field organizer, Colonel J.K. Mulkey. Mulkey spelled out the Order's plans: to have (approximately 1500) laborers seize Baja California and proclaim the Republic of Northern Mexico. The report also caught a damning quote from Mulkey: "When the time comes, the Order will be so powerful…It will simply be the story of Texas over again."

With their plan exposed, some amendments came to the Order’s plans. When Mulkey realized the implications of his statements, he tried to walk back his claims saying he had lied to the Chronicle. The attention brought to Order's plan resulted in a delay to their plot until 1890.[9] The most significant change came from new foreign management in the area. In May of 1889, the English-backed Mexican Land and Colonization Company (MLCC) acquired the holdings of the flailing ICM. The owner of the MLCC, Sir Edward Jenkinson, owned a thriving coffee plantation and mining operation in Chiapas, Mexico, and sought to expand his holdings by buying up land rights in Baja California.

The Mexican government also reacted to the 1888 plot by appointing a special investigator, Manuel Sánchez Facio, to inspect the business dealings in Baja California.[10] Sánchez Facio's report alleged numerous breaches of the company charter according to Mexican colonization laws. He also found several other acts that made the company suspect. He strongly recommended that the Mexican government not deal with either company in Baja.[11]

Despite Sánchez Facio's warnings, the second plot continued to take shape in 1889. Jenkinson had appointed Londoner Buchanan Scott as manager of the company in the fall of 1888. One person described Scott's management of Baja California in 1889 as "far superior to any manager the company has ever had." Scott paid the leftover debts of the ICM and oversaw increased economic production in the mining districts. In the spring of 1890, Scott, seeking to bolster company fortunes in the region, agreed to fund the Order's second plot to filibuster Baja California away from the Mexican government.[12]

In April 1890, the reconstituted filibuster group met several times in San Diego to revive their hopes from 1888. This group believed the peninsula contained the ideal conditions for rebellion and secured a $100,000 pledge of aid from an enthusiastic Scott. The fifteen plotters devised a plan called The Grand Fandango to wrest the province from Mexico, putting themselves in the seat of power in Baja California.

The Grand Fandango called for the kidnapping of Baja California's governor with several preemptive steps to ensure their success. The plot hinged around an alcohol-fueled soiree involving the conspirators hosting the provincial governor and his coterie. Before the party, some of the plotters would smuggle and warehouse munitions-including Gatling guns and field cannons- into the town. Other members promised money for the venture to secure bribes for the army stationed in the city to stand down the night of the party. When the Mexican officials got drunk enough, the Americans would spring into action and take the governor into custody. Buchanan Scott also promised two British steamships to assist in controlling the port of Ensenada and suggested his American cohorts take control of a Mexican warship to provide naval support. By May, the group had built on the foundations of their revolutionary plot with soldier recruitment, flag design, and a list of acting members of the new government, most among the group of fifteen.[13] **

Similar to 1888, members' inability to keep secrets from newspapers compromised the chances of the 1890 plot. Captain Janes, a newer group member, spoke to a Los Angeles newspaper about the plot in April 1890.[14] Rumors fueled journalistic attention in the region, leading to the May 21, 1890, exposé in the San Diego Union entitled: "Filibusters Frustrated: Exposé of a Rattle-Brained Scheme to Capture Lower California." The paper, likely having spoken to a recruiter for the Order, spelled out the details of the Grand Fandango and concluded that the schemers named in the article "create distrust on the part of Mexico" and hindered trade relations between the US and Mexico. When media frenzy followed, the Secret Order of the Golden Field's existence faded from the record.[15]

Mexico and the US stepped up their security in response. Mexican officials prepared for other attempts on Baja California, while the US Secretary of State promised to prosecute any legitimate violations of neutrality laws. While rumors and reports of filibusters persisted after this event, no more American-led filibusters materialized after the 1890 fiasco. Attempts after the 1890 scandal most often involved disaffected Mexicans that sought to overthrow the Díaz government. These efforts would persist until the Mexican Revolution began in 1911.

In their failure, some reflections from the plotters suggest American white-nationalistic motivations for attempting such an audacious plan. Some of their brazen attitudes included arguing with a Mexican veteran and getting into an honor duel, while Bascom Stephens wrote an editorial boldly predicting that America would take Baja California sooner or later. Captain Janes, the jilted plotter whose words led to the San Diego Union’s exposé, continued to attempt filibusters in Latin America. He continued to believe that Baja California would eventually break away from Mexico.[16]

Sir Edward Jenkinson forced Buchanan Scott's resignation from the MLCC. Most sources absolve Jenkinson from wrongdoing in the scheme, rationalizing that he would not dare to jeopardize his profitable Chiapas-based holdings. Scott left Mexico and went to India to work for the British imperial administration in that country.[17]

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The religious art in Pre-hispanic Mesoamerica featured an abundance of iconographic deities that resembled the most important fauna in the region. It was common to combine the characteristics of multiple animals to create the image of a god, which is the case with the mythical deity of the feathered serpent. The feathered serpent was named differently throughout Mesoamerica. In nahuatl-speaking Central Mexico, the feathered serpent was known as Quetzalcoatl (from quetzalli, “quetzal feather” and coatl, “snake”). In the Mayan-speaking regions, the feathered serpent held the name of Kukulcan (in Yucatec Mayan) and Gucumatz (in Quiche Mayan). The amount of significance this religious figure acquired in Mesoamerica derives from the purpose of its creation.

Since the beginning of civilization, the serpent was a reptile associated with land, water, and the rebirth of vegetation. It remains unclear when the serpent transformed into a vastly worshipped deity in Mesoamerica, but what is known is that it is not until the start of the Classic period (150 A.D.) that a serpent adorned in feathers appears painted on the murals of the grand city of Teotihuacan. In later centuries, the reverence to the feathered serpent became much more profound as the inhabitants utilized the deity to explain their origins, the gift of life, and the legitimacy of political power.

The aspect of the feathered serpent in relation to agriculture is one of the most ancient and traditional beliefs of present villages. It was believed that the feathered serpent possessed both terrestrial and celestial powers, as it could travel to the sky and with its continuous movement through the clouds, generate rainfall for the crops. The plumed serpent was a deity that had the power to take away one of the most precious substances of the land, maize. Maize was a highly grown crop in Mesoamerica and an essential element to the indigenous diet. The growth cycle of maize was often associated with the feathered serpent, because of their similar features. The maize’s green leafs were comparable to the green quetzal feathers and the shape of the corncobs, equivalent to the serpent’s scales. The feathered serpent’s ability to travel from the deepest to the highest surfaces of the earth, results in a circular motion that germinates the land and its fruits. The lustrous colors decorating earth’s plants and animals were thought to be a result of the plumed serpent’s direct connection to fire and lightening. The feathered serpent represented the syncretism of cold elements extracted from the subterranean and hot substances from the extraterrestrial, both necessary for the growth of vegetation.

At the end of the Classic period in Mesoamerica (900 A.D.), the feathered serpent began to be deemed a cultural hero, as it was respected for its attributes and worshipped by individuals who were considered protectors of their people. The mythical deity served as a foundation for the creation of dynasties, as ancient communities began developing political organizations and noble linages that would govern the rest of society. The historic individuals would utilize myths as a form of establishing dominance of certain inhabitants over others. Therefore, the devotion to the sacred feathered serpent and its relation with the gods and man was integrated into the history of these villages, which the inhabitants personified and displayed in their architecture, sculptures, murals, ceramics, and even in their oral traditions. The plumed serpent became a well-known mythical deity, as an increase in religious interaction permitted the sharing of these cult ideals with other inhabitants in the region. The image of the divine feathered serpent in Pre-hispanic Mesoamerica consisted of a synthesis between the opposites of the universe, which has managed to capture the interest of contemporary artists.

A contemporary expression of the feathered serpent is located on display at the Popular Art Museum in Mexico City. The metal sculpture, titled Quetzalcoatl, was handcrafted by Alejandro Marin Fuentes, a student from the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes (School of Crafts) in Mexico City. The representation of the feathered serpent in modern artwork, demonstrates that the religious symbol continuous to hold significance, even in the lives of the inhabitants of modern Mexico.

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In 1961, President John F. Kennedy appointed Laredo, Texas native, Thomas C. Mann, as the first U.S. Ambassador to Mexico from Texas. Long a proponent of settling a fractious border dispute involving a small piece of land known as “El Chamizal” on the El Paso-Juárez border, Ambassador Mann was given the authority by President Kennedy to negotiate a resolution. The eventual settlement was substantially similar to the binding arbitration award the United States had rejected in 1911. Mann’s quiet negotiations with citizens and leaders at all levels of government were ultimately successful, resulting in a large buyout and resettlement program, the rechanneling of the Rio Grande, and the construction of new international bridges and border control facilities.[1] The peaceful resolution of the 100-year-old border dispute was ratified by treaty on January 14, 1964, and held by both nations as a diplomatic triumph. It is evident that Ambassador Mann seized an opportunity to bolster the tattered Good Neighbor relationship with Mexico, using his skillful diplomacy to achieve a result that satisfied both his desire to rectify arguable bad faith on the part of the U.S., and his goal to advance U.S. security by removing a target for anti-American communist groups in Mexico.

The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, established the international boundary between the United States and Mexico along the Rio Grande, following the deepest channel of the river.[2] The Rio Grande proved to be a singularly unstable boundary line, changing course significantly along its entire length many times over relatively short periods of time. The problems this caused were manifold and resulted in a Boundary Convention in 1884, and the establishment of an International Boundary Commission in 1889. The river shifted course significantly to the south around 1864, leaving El Chamizal, a 630-acre parcel of land that had belonged to Mexico on the north (Texas) side of the Rio Grande.[3] The U.S. and Mexico both claimed sovereignty over the slice of land.

By 1911, the United States and Mexico had agreed, under the terms of prior treaties, to submit the dispute to the International Boundary Commission for binding arbitration. At the conclusion of the arbitration, the Commission found, under the terms of the treaties, the majority of the 630 acres belonged to Mexico.[4] The United States, citing a hypertechnical reading of the scope of the Commission’s authority, refused to accept the arbitral award.[5] Thus, Chamizal, became a source of strong anti-American feeling among Mexicans. “If ever there was an American position which could be counted upon to cause suspicion and distrust, altogether this was it.”[6] Every president since President William Howard Taft (1909-1913) had tried and failed to resolve the dispute.[7] “Throughout it all, it seems clear that the Chamizal conflict was always close to the surface of Mexican popular consciousness and concern.”[8] This was where the matter stood when Ambassador Mann took up his post in Mexico City in the spring of 1961.

President Kennedy’s appointment of Mann as the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico was widely celebrated in Mann’s home state of Texas as well as in Mexico. It had been said that “Mexico would not accept a Texan as the United States Ambassador.”[9] However, Mann was born and raised in the Texas border town of Laredo. He often referred to his border upbringing and was fluent in Spanish, saying he had “learned Spanish before English.”[10] He earned a law degree from Baylor University, practicing law for eight years before entering the foreign service during World War II. He rose quickly through the ranks thanks to his sharp, legal analyses, uncanny grasp of economic issues, and his command of Spanish.[11] He had already served in the State Department under Presidents Roosevelt, Truman, and Eisenhower, with most of that experience focused on Latin America. Newspapers across Texas and Mexico ran the story, touting Mann’s reputation among Mexicans. Mann “is said to be friendly to Mexicans and is well liked by them.”[12] Another newspaper reported, “on the whole, Mexicans are unabashedly happy about the appointment…” and “in Mann’s favor are a number of long and deep personal friendships among the men who steer Mexico’s foreign policy.”[13] Mann’s public demeanor was that of a tough, blunt loner. “As one author put it, he was a man of few words who “not only didn’t have charisma, he didn’t believe in it.’”[14] However, it appears that Mann’s diplomatic strength lay in his reputation for integrity and his warmth in small groups. Ladybird Johnson, wrote in her journal that Mann “possessed a deep love of Mexico” and that he seemed “made of tough fiber, but a loveable man.”[15] He also was known for “having absolute loyalty to whoever was president.”[16] One newspaper article described him as “quiet and efficient” and said “his mode of diplomacy is personal, usually conducted at small dinner parties or in chats in his paneled office.”[17] These traits would serve him well in negotiating the Chamizal settlement.

Against the backdrop of the Cuban Revolution, Mann “regarded the containment of Mexico’s leftward drift as his central mission.”[18] Having always desired to see the United States honor its treaty obligations concerning the Chamizal and seeing the chance to strengthen U.S.-Mexican relations, Mann proposed to President Kennedy the idea of revisiting the Chamizal issue.[19] Kennedy gave Mann the go ahead to begin negotiations. Mann already had a close professional and personal relationship with Foreign Minister Manuel Tello, who was tasked by President López Mateos to negotiate for Mexico. The real challenge for Mann would be convincing El Paso and Texas that it was in America’s best interests to honor the spirit of the binding arbitration award. “Mann recognized the diplomatic importance of securing a Chamizal agreement and worked tirelessly, as one author has put it, to reach a settlement ‘palatable to his fellow Texans.’”[20] In the years that had passed since the 1911 arbitration, American citizens had built homes and businesses in Chamizal. The small tract was now home to several schools, a meat packing plant, several small businesses, and some 4,000 residents.[21] Negotiating the deal was complex, requiring the support of the City of El Paso, State of Texas, and Congress. According to Frank V. Ortiz, special assistant to Mann: he and Ambassador Mann started the process by meeting with local leaders in El Paso quietly and without publicity. El Paso leaders urged settlement, saying that without one the “future of El Paso and Juarez would be one of constant, bitter recrimination.” Mann and Ortiz next flew to Austin to meet with Governor Connally who pledged his support of the deal, but fearing a “backlash from “nationalist” Texans,” advised that the negotiations be kept confidential. Mann’s team then flew to Houston and won the support of civic leaders there. Ortiz recalls, “Ambassador Mann was so highly regarded and confidence in his judgment and his integrity was so high in Texas, that he almost alone won the support we had to have for a solution.”[22]

The agreement was formalized in the Chamizal convention, signed by Ambassador Mann and Mexican Foreign Minister Tello in Mexico City on August 29, 1963. The disparity between Mexican and American reactions to the Chamizal settlement is telling. Media coverage in Mexico was immense, while it was mentioned only in passing in U.S. papers. As one author aptly put it, “[i]n a word, what was a mundane event in the United States was to the Mexicans one of the great moments in their recent history.”[23] Although Mann and his team were able to build consensus to settle the dispute, not every Texan was happy with the result, and some wrote to Mann to express their displeasure. Mann's response to one such letter offers a glimpse of the principles that guided him: “I have no hesitation in saying to you that in my opinion when a Government or a man pledges his word it becomes a matter of honor to do what he undertook to do.”[24] Indeed, in an echo of Mann’s sentiments, one newspaper commented that the State Department wanted the Chamizal Settlement “if for no other reason than to halt the teaching in Mexican schools that the U.S. does not honor international agreements.”[25]

Why could Thomas Mann settle this issue that had long eluded others before him? According to one local official, “he understands the problems. He understands Mexico. He knows the importance, not just economically but emotionally and idealistically of the Chamizal.”[26] Ambassador Mann answered this question himself, “I felt strongly that it should be done in the broader interests of both countries. We are neighbors, and this had been a thorn in our side exploited by nationalists and Communists and everybody else for fifty years. A constant source of friction in relations we thought ought to be removed.”[27] His commitment to the Good Neighbor policy was authentic, but not without an agenda. “Although the United States yielded almost entirely to the historic Mexican contention, the Chamizal settlement was widely recognized as well worth the price.”[28] Incredibly, "to Americans it was so singularly unimportant that to this day, except for people in the vicinity of El Paso and perhaps for international lawyers and a few others, it is largely unknown.”[29] Yet, a national memorial now stands in El Paso on part of the land that was divided in the settlement to commemorate the event that best symbolizes Mexican-American friendship. Ambassador Mann retired from public service in 1966. A true citizen of the border, he was awarded the Aztec Eagle in 1968, the highest honor the Mexican government can bestow on a foreigner.[30]

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“An international celebration of peace and good will in the Americas,” reads an advertisement announcing the harmonious theme of the Greater Texas and Pan-American Exposition of 1937 (“Exposition”).[1] The 1937 Exposition was a creature of its time. Historian of fairs Robert Rydell claims, “depression-era fairs…became cultural icons for the nation’s hopes and future.”[2] This Exposition, like other fairs, “provided a tangible way for powerful institutions, such as local and national governments, as well as elite economic interests to broadcast visually their worldviews to a large audience.”[3] Promotional materials crafted a romantic vision of a shared experience of empire, telling potential fairgoers, “the spread of empire throughout the Western World in less than five centuries is the phenomenal story of the Americas...to promote the feeling of international goodwill between the twenty-one independent nations of the New World, as voiced so strongly by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt before the 1936 Inter-American Peace Conference in Buenos Aires, is the magnificent Greater Texas and Pan American Exposition at Dallas.”[4] One author notes, “the stated intention of the 1937 fair was to usher in an era of peace and cooperation between all the countries of the Western hemisphere with Texas at the heart of a great Pan-American economic engine.”[5] Nevertheless, underlying this Pan-American ideal was a “tension inherent in the asymmetrical U.S.-Latin American relationship.”[6]

Overshadowed by and often collapsed into the Texas Centennial Exposition of 1936 (“Texas Centennial”), the Exposition’s distinguishing features are largely overlooked. The Exposition opened at Dallas’s Fair Park just six months after the close of the Texas Centennial. The grounds and buildings were repackaged with a Latin American flair representative of the stereotypes and clichés of the time, and, unlike the Texas Centennial, all of the nations of the Americas were invited to construct exhibits.[7] As befitted Texas’s nearest neighbor, Mexico’s exhibit at the Exposition occupied the largest space allotted in the Rotundo le las Americas.[8] However, Mexico threatened to remove its exhibit at least twice, and Mexican athletes were mysteriously absent from the Exposition’s widely advertised Pan-American games. This paper explores Mexico’s muted embrace of the Greater Texas and Pan-American Exposition within the context of its political and economic relationship with the United States in 1937.

In keeping with the Exposition’s theme of cooperation, a highly anticipated schedule of friendly, international athletic events was planned, which some recognize as the first Pan-American Games.[9] The Exposition hired Washington, D.C. businessman George Preston Marshall as Director of Sports and Entertainment. Marshall viewed, “sport as the key to expanding trade and tourism in the Western Hemisphere.”[10] Planned events included track and field; boxing; a soccer tournament to include “the strongest units of South America and the champions of Mexico and the United States;” car racing; a motorboat regatta; and “the crowning glory,” a 1,400-mile foot race from Mexico City to Dallas.[11] $100,000 of prize money was allocated for winners of the events.[12] The pomp and circumstance of the athletic competition would be demonstrated by elaborate opening ceremonies and the “flame of friendship” atop the “Tower of Flame,” the largest sports monument built in the United States at that time.[13] State Department envoys embarked on a twenty-nation tour of Latin America to personally deliver invitations to participate in the Exposition and to send athletes to compete in the games.[14] Despite these efforts and widespread coverage by newspapers, the games were smaller in reality than envisioned, and notably lacked participation by Mexico. Early reporting claimed that Mexico had accepted the invitation and would send a soccer team. In April of 1937, it seemed the United States, Uruguay, Argentina, Mexico, and possibly Cuba had entered teams in the soccer tournament.[15] By June 8, one week before the soccer tournament was to begin, newspapers declared that the soccer tournament would include Peru, Argentina, Mexico, and the United States.[16] Just before the Exposition’s opening, a quiet mention was made in the Dallas Morning News that Mexico would not be sending a soccer team after all.[17] It is unclear what happened with the Peruvian and Uruguayan teams. At least one newspaper reported that the teams failed to attend due to “mismanagement by tournament officials.”[18] In the end, only the United States, Canada, and Argentina fielded teams in the soccer tournament. Meanwhile, numerous newspapers continued to anticipate the exciting spectacle of the road race from Mexico City to Dallas.[19] It was postponed and eventually cancelled due to “complex arrangement details.”[20]

One clue to a deeper reason than mere inconvenience for Mexico’s withdrawal from the games is noted by historian Mark Dyreson. He refers to a “quiet Mexican boycott,” citing Mexican newspaper La Afición. La Afición appears to have missed the distinction between the Exposition and the Texas Centennial, urging readers not to attend the games. In strong language, the newspaper condemned the games as a celebration of the “despoilation” of Mexico’s former province, Texas, and stated, “frankly, we could blush with shame if a Mexican team in any sport attended the Pan-American Field Day.”[21] Dyreson argues, “Mexico’s athletic boycott of the Pan-American festival scuttled Marshall’s proposed Mexico City to Dallas footrace and put a damper on the international and interracial harmony the Pan-American Games would allegedly foment.”[22] As it happens, La Afición’s position was not entirely unfounded.

From the outset, Exposition director, Frank McNeny, took pains to set the Exposition apart from the Texas Centennial. A newspaper article from January 8, 1937, reported McNeny had asked the public to use the correct name of the Greater Texas and Pan-American Exposition because the Texas Centennial, “commemorated a glorious past,” but this Exposition, “will look to the brilliant future.”[23] Despite McNeny’s efforts, in the rush to convert the Texas Centennial into the Exposition, the continuities of time and space may have confused some audiences. One of the Texas Centennial’s main attractions had been the Cavalcade of Texas. The 1937 Exposition reinvented this as the Cavalcade of the Americas. One author says it “backfired,” arguing, “the revised Dallas fair, with its commingling of Aztec, rodeo, and Americana, indicated that the complicated invented hemispheric subject it projected had not been resolved in the sociopolitical reality of Dallas, Texas.”[24] A particularly contentious part of the Cavalcade was a historically inaccurate dramatization of an Aztec ritual sacrifice of a maiden.[25] The Fort Worth Star-Telegram reported that Mexican Consul Adolfo Domínguez protested until the board of directors of the Exposition corrected the ritual to accurately depict the sacrifice of a warrior instead.[26] Another conflict involving four wax panels, retained from the Texas Centennial, glorifying Texas’s victory over Mexico, prompted Mexican President Lázaro Cárdenas to instruct Consul Domínguez to “withdraw Mexican exhibits unless the offending wax panels were deleted.”[27] Both of these complaints were addressed to Mexico’s satisfaction, and its exhibits remained. Still, one wonders if insults like these contributed to Mexico’s withdrawal from the Pan-American games.

Finally, Mexico’s absence from the Pan-American games in 1937 may have been indicative of larger political and economic initiatives pursued by the Mexican government. President Cárdenas had set Mexico on a course toward economic self-determination. Mexico was likely less interested in the Exposition’s enticement to boost trade than in taking charge of its own economy. Newspaper headlines from 1937, such as “Mexico Slows Reform Drive: Financial Crisis Faces Cárdenas,” reveal a Mexico in transition and facing critical decisions.[28] As one editor wrote, “the government is attempting to throw off the yoke of the foreign exploiter. It is trying to reclaim Mexico for Mexicans.”[29] Through this lens, one could argue the games were a victim of bad timing. The U.S. had yet to prove itself a good neighbor when faced with a Latin American nation prioritizing its own interests over U.S. trade investments. Perhaps Mexico sensed that Texas had more to gain from Mexican participation from the Exposition games than Mexico did.

As a creature of its time, the Greater Texas and Pan-American Exposition cast an aspirational vision of hemispheric harmony in an effort to boost trade and bolster political alliances during a global depression and war brewing in Europe. The Pan-American games themselves were an ambitious undertaking and deserve credit for inspiring what would become the Pan-American Games that we know today. In the end, the games were considered a successful “link in the good-neighbor policy,” attended by 55,000 Texans, prompting the Brazilian ambassador to offer to host the games the following year.[30] However, Mexico’s absence from the games must have seemed glaring given its proximity to Dallas and early expectations of involvement. Time and place matter. Hosting the Exposition only six months after the close of the Texas Centennial in the same venue may have made it difficult to distinguish the two fairs. Instances of cultural insensitivity may have caused Mexico to doubt Texan overtures of neighborliness. Finally, the Pan-American games were perhaps ahead of their time. Mexico was in the process of pursuing a path of economic independence. Only a few months after the close of the Exposition, President Cárdenas would execute the pivotal nationalization of the oil industry in Mexico. This would place the Good Neighbor Policy in a real-world contest rather than in one played on the pitch.

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In the summer of 1989, the residents of a Yucatán village near the ancient ruins of Yaxuná were in great distress. Due to a drought, two of that year’s crop plantings had failed and a third crop failure would spell disaster for the villagers. Unwilling to leave the third crop’s success to mere chance, the inhabitants resorted to an ancient custom that their ancestors had used for more than one thousand years. [1]

Under the guidance of a local shaman, the residents built an altar of gourds, saplings, and corn to summon the ancient Mayan god of rain and thunder, Chac. For three days, the shaman burned incense and made offerings of honey wine, meat, and cornbread before falling into a trance for ten hours. [2]

David Freidel, an archeologist who then worked for Southern Methodist University and a participant in the ceremony, recalled what occurred next.

“When the ceremony ended, we heard the deep rumble of thunder.” [3]

Despite repeated attempts by Spanish colonial authorities to eradicate the ancient gods of the Yucatán, the ch’achac or “summoning the Chacs” ceremony is an ancient religious tradition that the modern residents of the Yucatán peninsula continue to practice today. The ceremony pays homage to Chac, the ancient deity responsible for rain and the most prayed to pagan entity on the Yucatán. [4] The region’s unique geography played a key role in shaping the special relationship between the Indians and Chac.

The Yucatan peninsula is a vast limestone shelf devoid of readily accessible sources of fresh water such as rivers and streams. [5] In Pre-Columbian times, Indian farmers had no livestock with which to supplement their diets. The survival of a village wholly depended on the successful harvest of their crops and the timely arrival of rain. In times of drought, all the men of a village would gather to perform the ch’achac ceremony in the hope that the rains would return to water their crops and replenish the cenotes. Cenotes are large sinkholes that provide easy access to an immense network of underground pools of fresh water throughout the Yucatán region.

With rain and water playing such a crucial role for the survival of the Indians, Chac figured prominently in the daily lives of the peasants working the fields. In his analysis of the Dresden Codex, one of the four Mayan codices that survives today, historian Paul Schellhas noted that Chac was invoked 141 times, more than the mentions of all the other Mayan deities combined.

Historian J. Eric S. Thompson notes how Chac was not single deity but a group of deities that served a variety of functions related to rain and the natural phenomena associated with it. The four main Chacs resided at the “foot of the sky” and were responsible for rain, thunder, and lightning. Lesser Chacs such as Ah Ch’alelem Caan Chac or “He with the Jar Sky-chac” were responsible for replenishing the water in the cenotes. Thompson asserts the Indians believed these lesser Chacs resided in caves and cenotes found throughout the Yucatán and were the most accessible of the Chacs. [8]

The Yucatec natives viewed cenotes as “gifts from the gods” and began to hold religious ceremonies at the cenotes, especially at those located at Tabi, Tibolón, Sotuta, Kanchunnup and Yaxcabá. The most sacred of the cenotes was located at Chichen Itza. [9] The Maya believed that their sacrificial victims, who were thrown in the cenotes, would interact with the Chac deities beneath the surface of the water. [10] Historians believe the ceremonies and rituals performed at cenotes were primarily for the purpose of petitioning for rain. [11]

Chac’s uncontested rule over the Indians ended abruptly in 1545 when the first Spanish missionaries set foot on the Yucatan peninsula. Initially, the natives and the Franciscans preachers established an uneasy peace as evidenced by the Indians showing the Franciscans their sacred codices. That trust however ruptured in the summer of 1562. Two villagers reported finding bones and skulls in a cave near Mani prompting church officials to launch a brutal inquisition. [12] More than 4,500 natives endured weeks of torture meted out by the Spanish clerics. For another seventeen years, the Franciscans continued their extralegal inquisition without consulting secular authorities. [13]

The zealousness of the Franciscan missionaries however laid the foundation for the Indians to continue the practice of their ancient religion. The Franciscan goal of eradicating idolatry using harsh methods caused widespread unrest in the province leading to several rebellions. This drew the ire of secular authorities who wanted to pacify the province to maximize the profits earned from the land for themselves and the Spanish crown.

In the ensuing tug-of-war for control between church and state, the Indians themselves noted the divisions between their conquerors and moved quickly to take advantage of the situation.[14] When church officials handed down cruel punishments for idolatry, the Indians complained to the secular authorities. When the secular authorities tried to enslave them, the Indians sought the protection of church officials. Historian John Chuchiak notes this careful “balance act” as the key to the survival of traditional Yucatec culture and religion. [15]

“By playing a delicate balance act between a full-scale revolt against secular authorities and total submission to religious authorities, the Maya preserved their unique culture and civilization against all odds.” [16]

Today the practice of “summoning the Chacs” continues with some changes. Human sacrifices no longer occur, and rituals no longer happen at cenotes but in times of drought, Yucatec villagers continue to reach out to their ancient gods. Although the specifics of the ceremony vary according to each village, the modern ch’achac ritual typically consists of a three-day ceremony in which all the men of a village gather to make offerings to Chac.

Pascale Meehan, a historian from the University of Colorado, witnessed the Chac summoning ceremony in August 2011 near Yaxaba, Yucatán. On the first day of the ceremony, she said the villagers gathered at a location in the forest near the village and built a four-post altar made of leafy branches and saplings. Using vines from the forest, the altar’s four posts were “anchored” to nearby trees. A recently hunted deer was butchered and the meat was used to make a stew while the animal’s blood was set aside. The blood was then mixed with ba’alché, a tea made from tree bark, to make a ritual beverage which is considered the favorite drink of Chac. [17]

Over the next two days, the shaman makes offerings of corn bread, honey wine, and stewed meats. On the third day, the shaman consumes of a special alcoholic beverage which causes him to enter an altered state of being during which he consults with the gods. Afterward, the shaman leads a set of final prayers in the hope the ceremony has appeased Chac and the rain will return. [18]

Although the modern-day Yucatec villagers consider themselves good Roman Catholics, Chac and the ch’achac ceremony remain a crucial part of their daily lives. [19] The ceremony has changed since the arrival of the Spanish in the sixteenth century. The people of the Yucatán remain as they were then, an agriculture-based society. When in dire need due to a lack of rain, they still turn their ancestral gods in times of distress and despite all odds, continue to keep their culture and religious traditions alive well into the twenty-first century.

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Pedro Rodriguez was born to go fast. Indeed, his early life involved two things that all great race drivers understand; change and competition. To succeed in auto racing, a driver must adapt to change. Track conditions, weather, tire conditions, traffic, and more, are ever-evolving during a race. Great drivers make their cars go fast no matter how the conditions change. Conditions for Mexico were changing too. Rodríguez’s success brought international attention to Mexican racing at a time when Mexico was attempting to expand its international influence. Pedro Rodríguez was undoubtedly great. In fact, many say he was the greatest. Mexican business leader Carlos Slim-Domit put it this way, “…when we think about Motorsports in Mexico, we have the Rodriguez brothers as our reference…." Pedro's life would be cut tragically short, however, when he died doing what he loved most, driving a race car.

Pedro Rodriguez was born to Don Pedro and Doña Conchita Rodriguez de la Vega in 1940. Two years later, little brother Rodrigo was born. The family had a comfortable life in the Nueva Anzures borough of Mexico City. Don Pedro was a driver for Mexican Presidential candidate Lázaro Cárdenas-del Río. He later became a successful railroad broker. The brothers were competitors early in life. Don Pedro encouraged competition, signing the boys up for boxing lessons and encouraging them to race on their bicycles. Young Pedro preferred speed to anything else. He loved horses and cars, often riding his horse at high speed and yearning for the day he was old enough to experience the same feeling in an automobile. Little Ricardo copied Pedro in everything he did, as many younger siblings will.

By 9, Pedro had won his class in a national bicycle racing series. In 1952, he began racing motorcycles. His natural ability began to emerge around this time. At first, he could not compete with the other riders' more powerful motorcycles. However, when Don Pedro sprang for the faster Adler motorcycle, Pedro immediately became competitive and experienced victory for the first time. In 1953, Pedro would win the first five races he entered.

Pedro and Ricardo each had tremendously successful racing careers on motorcycles, but cars were what they really wanted to drive. Don Pedro worked the licensing systems to try and get his teenage sons an opportunity to drive. He owned a Porsche 350 and wanted young Pedro to drive it in the 1954 Carrera Panamericana. Being an international race, however, the sanctioning body (the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile or "FIA") would not allow it. However, Don Pedro's success in business and his passion for motorsports put him at the forefront of Mexican car culture. At one point, Mexican President Adolfo Lopez-Mateos asked his friend Don Pedro to acquire a Ferrari for use around Mexico City.

Things were changing for Mexico and the Rodriguez family. Boys will be boys, and the teenage Pedro and Ricardo were experiencing the tensions of adolescence. After a big altercation, Don Pedro decided young Pedro needed discipline more than racing trophies and sent him to Western Military Academy in Illinois. Ricardo could not race during the school year, which he felt was a waste of time and talent. Nevertheless, Don Pedro and Doña Conchita insisted on the boys' education. For Don Pedro, fortunes were increasing. His fellow car enthusiast Adolfo López-Mateos was on his way to the Mexican presidency. This raised Don Pedro's profile significantly. Incidentally, Don Pedro delivered López-Mateos’s Ferrari to his door on his birthday in 1956. It was also time to move his teenage sons into cars. Don Pedro bought young Pedro a 1957 corvette, although Ricardo took the liberty of driving it while his brother was away at school. In early 1957, Ricardo became the first of the two brothers to enter an auto race, competing in an Opel at a touring race near Mexico City, where he would finish second.

A the end of the 1957 school year, Ricardo had enjoyed tremendous success in his new career, though his young age was causing some consternation among the racing regulators. Ricardo accompanied Don Pedro to Illinois to pick up Pedro from school. The three attended that year's Indianapolis 500, with both boys pledging to drive in the race someday. Upon returning to Mexico, it became clear to Pedro that Ricardo had a tremendous lead in their shared dream to become race car drivers. Pedro refused to return to Western Military Academy and insisted that Don Pedro allow him to begin his racing career. Don Pedro gave in, and young Pedro got his start.

As Pedro and Ricardo grew up, the auto racing culture was blossoming in Mexico. In 1950, the Mexican section of the Pan-American highway was inaugurated, and the Carerra Panamericana (Pan-American Road Race) was held in celebration. The Mexican government often used large national celebrations to solidify and celebrate its rule and to advertise progress to the world. No doubt this race inspired the Rodriguez brothers in their quest for glory. As the Pan-American highway would connect the Americas, so would the Carrera Panamericana connect Mexico to the world. Sport offers a unique opportunity for both international unity and national pride. Like President López-Mateos’s love of Ferraris, cars and racing carry international appeal. The Carrera Panamericana focused world eyes on Mexico while at the same time giving the Mexican people pride of place as its international status as a modern nation would grow during the period later referred to as the "Mexican Miracle." Like many young men who catch the racing bug, this period would propel the Rodriguez brothers to greatness.

Ricardo would make his U.S. debut in Riverside, California, in 1958. He drove a Porsche to victory in one of his races, to the amazement of the American spectators. Ricardo teamed with Pedro at LeMans in 1959 but did not finish the race. In 1960, however, Ricardo finished second in his class at LeMans and became the youngest driver to have a podium finish in the storied race. By 1962, Ricardo had started three Formula 1 races, the peak of motorsports. He did not win, but in 1961 became the youngest driver to ever qualify for the front row on the starting grid when he qualified a Ferrari second at the 1961 Italian Grand Prix.

In 1962, Ricardo was scheduled to race for Lotus in the Mexican Grand Prix. While testing his car, he entered a 180-degree corner too fast and hit the guardrail head-on. Strangely, he was not wearing his safety harness, and as he was ejected from the car, the windshield nearly severed him in two. At the time, Ricardo was regarded as the more naturally talented driver over Pedro. His death shook the Mexican people but hit Pedro particularly hard. Shortly after Ricardo's funeral, Pedro announced his retirement from racing. He could not go on.

In 1963, Ferrari wanted Pedro to run a race at Daytona, Florida. Pedro went to great lengths to limit the publicity surrounding his return. He was curious to know how he would respond when he got back in the car and how Ricardo's memory might affect his driving. Pedro answered any remaining questions when he won the race in the Ferrari. Pedro was not the natural talent that his brother had been. Legendary Formula 1 mechanic Jo Ramirez writes, “More often than not Pedro used to spend more time off the circuit than on it, and whenever there was a crash it was Pedro at the wheel.” Nevertheless, Pedro was capable of tremendous feats of driving. One example was the 1971 World Manufacturer's Championship. Driving the iconic Porsche 917, Pedro lost three entire laps in the pits but emerged and not only made up the laps but won the race! In that particular race, Pedro drove 157 of the 170 laps.

In 1964, Pedro scored his first Formula 1 point, finishing 6th in the Mexican Grand Prix. His prospects in Formula 1 seemed bright. A yearbook for 1964 complimented Pedro's talents. "He has all the necessary qualities…youthful, fearless without being reckless, and technical sympathy with his machine. Young Pedro Rodriguez could be a promising investment." Pedro would drive more Formula 1 races for Ferrari and Lotus in the ensuing three years but without much success. Mexican auto racing was also facing tough times as the presidency of López-Mateos gave way to that of Gustavo Díaz-Ordaz at the end of 1964. López-Mateos was a racing fan. He had promoted auto racing in Mexico for its own sake and to give Mexico more international connection during the "Global Sixties." Días-Ordaz, however, cared more for soccer or the Olympics. As a result, Pedro Rodriguez sought the international opportunities Formula 1 provided. Pedro also traveled to compete in many other racing series. In 1965, he competed in NASCAR's 600-mile race in Charlotte. NASCAR president Bill France had recommended Pedro to one of NASCAR's premier teams, Holman-Moody. Despite having little oval-track experience, Pedro brought his Ford home in fifth place.

The first Formula 1 race for the 1967 season took place in South Africa. Pedro had been hired for just that race by the Cooper team, with the proviso that if he performed well, the team might hire him for the rest of the season. Pedro qualified in the fourth starting position. During the race, he lost fourth gear, resulting in his having to race the car using only third and fifth. A series of retirements in front of him and his pushing the car to its absolute limit allowed Pedro to win the race for his first Formula 1 victory. When he crossed the finish line, his tires were completely bald.

Often in motor racing, the elusive first victory leads to further success. Pedro would win the 1970 Belgian Grand Prix and a non-championship race at Oulton Park in England. He would finish "in the points" at four other races in 1970. He would also finish second in Holland in 1971. During this era in motorsports, the top drivers often competed in multiple racing series. For example, Mario Andretti had season championships in Indy Car, Formula 1, and even USAC dirt track racing, in addition to winning NASCAR’s Daytona 500. Similarly, Pedro would continue competing at LeMans, winning in 1968 with co-driver Lucien Bianchi in the legendary Ford GT40. Pedro would win ten times with Ferrari in sportscars and eight times with Porsche.

In 1971, Pedro planned to enter an Interseries race at the famed Norisring in Germany. The 200-mile race was not important for Pedro's career, but he had been offered a Ferrari to drive. He started on the first row and took the lead almost immediately. By the fifth lap, he was catching the last-place cars. However, on lap 12, as he entered an "S" curve, his car spun out of control, bounced off a concrete wall, and came to rest in a guardrail. The car burst into flames. Pedro was revived three times on his way to the hospital but could not be revived a fourth.

Pedro Rodriguez died in what may have been his best year ever. Thousands of people crowded the airport when his body returned to Mexico. The mayor of Mexico City sat with the Rodriguez family at his funeral. Mexico's most successful race driver was laid to rest in the Spanish Cemetery. Legendary racing engineer John Wyer put it best, "For me, Pedro was the greatest driver of his time…I mean the greatest. He is irreplicable.”

Pedro Rodriguez and Ricardo, for a time, brought motorsports to the fore in Mexican society. At a time when Mexico sought to build its international connections and place itself more prominently in the international conversations during the "Global Sixties," the success of the Rodriguez brothers helped elevate Mexico's standing in one of the most popular international sporting communities. Pedro would also inspire generations to come. Current Formula 1 driver Sergio "Checo" Perez drives for the famed Red Bull Racing Formula 1 team. Celebrating victory in the 2022 Monaco Grand Prix, Perez said, "It's a massive day for me and my country…I was running today Pedro Rodriguez's helmet and I'm sure up there he's super proud of what we have achieved together in the sport."

Mexican motor racing suffered after Pedro's death. The Mexican Grand Prix was canceled due to dangerously rowdy crowds in 1970. Most Mexican drivers built their careers outside Mexico. Though it would take years, racing did eventually come back to Mexico. The Mexican Grand Prix finally returned in 1986—at the Autodromo Hermanos Rodriguez, named for Mexico's racing brothers. The race now occupies a prominent place on the Formula 1 race schedule and forever enshrined Pedro Rodriguez’s legacy as Mexico’s greatest driver.

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Throughout history and across all cultures women have arguably held the most significant role in society: motherhood. This role has required every culture group to create medical practices, as well as religious and spiritual beliefs to cope with and understand the processes of pregnancy and labor. The goal of this research is to examine the ways in which pregnancy was viewed in Mesoamerica, and how pregnant women were cared for in both Aztec and Maya cultures of Mexico and Guatemala. I will look at pre-Columbian midwifery practices and beliefs that were in place in these areas, and analyze similarities and differences that existed between Aztec and Maya practices relating to this topic. Lastly, I will look at how Mesoamerican spiritual beliefs involving caves could relate to women and pregnancy. This research is composed of a variety of sources including books, academic journals, and scholarly articles written by both professional historians and authors.

The view that Aztec and Maya people often took on pregnancy and birth explains why they had many deities related to fertility and childbirth. The Aztecs had a patroness for their midwives, named Teteoinnan. “Xochiquetzal (sexuality and feasting) and her counterpart Tlazolteotl (carnal transgression, filth, and absolution from sexual wrongdoing)” [4] were two Mesoamerican dieties that were related to sexual acts, pregnancy, and birth. The wording that was typically used to describe pregnancy and birth provides another clue for the feelings and views towards the process. The word for pregnancy was often “designated by words with roots meaning “death” [9], and it was thought that the infant in utero was “from the Mictlan, [which was] a realm associated with the underworld and death” [9]. When referring to giving birth, Sahagún recorded that the Nahuas word for giving birth was miquizpan, meaning “time of death” [10], and it is thought that there was an “association of giving birth [and] with experiencing death” [9]. Clearly the people understood that there was a strong correlation between pregnancy and death in ancient Mesoamerica, possibly due to a higher mortality rate during the birthing process.

The views between pregnancy and death that were held by Aztec and Maya cultures in the previous paragraph demonstrates the importance that must have been placed on midwives and their medical practices in ancient Mesoamerica. It was their job to ensure the safe delivery of the infant, while also ensuring the survival of the mother. “This demanded that a formidable ritual, pharmacological, and mythical knowledge” [4] be passed from midwife to midwife. One of the practices that Mesoamerican midwives utilized to care for their patients was the steam bath. “Before, during, and after childbirth, a midwife enters the steam bath with the parturient and administers a series of massages and herbal remedies to speed delivery and facilitate postpartum recovery” [5]. There are reports from the seventeenth-century that “suggest that [Maya] childbirth took place in the steam bath rather than in the house (a practice also followed by the Aztec for difficult births)” [13]. Typically, pre-Columbian Mesoamerican women gave birth in their own house, but the steam bath gained importance, especially in Maya midwifery practices. The steam bath rising in importance could be due to the midwife and medical belief that correlated the mother’s health and survival with heat. The midwife would give “the mother a steam bath or a [heated] chocolate drink to replenish the heat loss caused by birth” [13].

Steam baths were also used for spiritual and religious purposes. There were deity patrons of steam baths for both Aztec and Maya cultures, “including Francisca Batz’bal and the Mam for the Tz’utujiil Maya and paired male-female earth lords” [13] that ensured the health and safety of both the mother and child. After the birth, these deities needed to be thanked for their help, so the midwife would bury the afterbirth as an offering to them. The steam bath may have held even more significance because the “hearth of a steam bath is called xictli, which also means “navel” [which] equates the steam bath structure with the warm, moist womb of the mother goddess” [13]. Therefore, it may have been believed that the person was entering “the womb of the earth mother, [to leave] healthy… like a new-born baby” [5]. This means that the steam bath was used as a form of purification, as well as rejuvenation for the mother after birth.

In the unfortunate case that the mother did not live through the birth of her child, the Aztec people believed that “a special destiny awaited the souls of women who died in childbirth. These women were considered equal to warriors who died in battle...They too had sacrificed their own lives so that a new life could come into the world” [4]. It was also thought that their souls went to “the sun in the sky, [which was usually reserved] for warriors who died in combat, [or] people [who were] sacrificed to the sun” [4]. The trial that these women went through to bring their child into the world was recognized and honored. The Aztec people understood that these women went through an ordeal that is similar to battle. They knew that labor and delivery was a difficult trial and that the process posed a similar risk that battle does.

The relationship between death, the underworld, the gods, and the birthing process is evident in Mesoamerican cultures, particularly in Maya culture. It makes sense then that there would be a correlation between birthing and cave use, because pre-Columbian Mesoamerican people commonly considered caves to be the “juncture between the ordinary world and the underworld” [2]. The Maya believed caves were sacred sites, possibly even where their deities and gods resided. Due to this, many of their sacred mountains were built on top of caves. The Maya “Quiche believed that they originally emerged from a cave” [1], which elevated caves to being the place of man’s creation. The Aztec also believed that “the ancestors emerged from a fertile hill known as Chicomoztoc (Place of Seven Caves)” [4]. Due to the ideas that the caves are the center of creation, it is strange that women were often excluded from sacred cave sites and the rituals that occurred there, and that only men were allowed to take part in rituals. Stranger still is the Aztec belief that “caves were also “passageways” to the underworld, and that rituals performed in caves could symbolically transport human beings into the realms of the world below” [4]. It is surprising then that women are thought to have somehow retrieved their growing infant from the underworld, but they could not take part in rituals to “transport” themselves there. How, then, were they able to do this?

It is often mentioned that women were not allowed within caves because it was thought that women have “a cave, a gorge” [6] inside of them, referring to the female reproductive system. Additionally, it has been reported that the Maya “equated [stalagmites] with penises…[and] if a woman was walking in a cave in a native skirt and stepped over the stalagmite, it would expose her uncovered genitalia to the phallic stone” [8]. This action of stepping over the stalagmite could cause her to become pregnant. Therefore, women had to be careful when going into caves because “there are always spirits in there and things they do not know and they could end up pregnant” [8], especially if they aren’t accompanied by a man because “a man is a protection” [3]. These cave spirits seem to be regarded as somewhat temperamental beings because “cave spirits not only provoke illness but cure it” [6], meaning that they could cause pregnancy, illness, or injury if they wished to. It is described in the Book of Lamentations that the cave spirits could even cause death. Even though the Book of Lamentations is a fictional work, it is based on real cultural context and cultural history, which is valuable to understand the past. In the book, a female character has an experience with a cave, and notes that “she knows obscurely that the day she crosses [the cave’s] threshold she will die” [3]. Upon visiting a cave in the Jakaltec and Chuj areas, Kieffer notes the behavior of the alcalde rezador with his group. “[The alcalde rezador] set up candles on a stone altar...and began asking permission to enter the cave” [8]. The prayer was meant to ask for permission from the gods and spirits that resided there, as well as to ask forgiveness for any unintended offense. This was an act of respect that was done to please the cave’s spirits so that no undesired problems occurred.

The process of pregnancy and birth in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica has a spiritual based belief system on how to properly handle the situation through midwifery practices to ensure the survival of both the mother and the baby. The ancient Maya and Aztec had very similar beliefs and feelings towards the process, both medically and spiritually. There is evidence that some of these practices have been passed on from midwife to midwife and are still used today. There is also evidence showing that the spiritual beliefs surrounding caves are still influencing people in Mesoamerica. The overall themes during both Maya and Aztec midwifery practices was ensuring the health of the mother and baby, as well as needing to satisfy the gods and thank them for their help. Caves have an interesting correlation between female reproduction and spiritual beliefs that are strong throughout pre-Columbian Mesoamerican cultures. Caves had an important role in both Maya and Aztec religion, that goes back to the point of the creation of their people. This fact cannot be ignored because it strongly parallels women creating life when they are pregnant and when they become a mother. However, the fact that women are unable to enter caves is a confusing aspect of Mesoamerican religion. It is understandable that they believe there are spirits and deities living within these caves and that they could be harmful. However, due to women’s vital role in the creation of life, it is strange that women are not the primary performers of rituals within these sacred caves.

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In the summer of 1954 the United States government carried out a mass deportation of over one million people. [1] This was Operation Wetback. In recent years there has been increased concern surrounding immigrants entering the United States via the Southern Border. Politicians have capitalized on the issue which has led to an increase in divisive and anti-immigrant rhetoric. Much of this rhetoric has centered on describing immigration, especially across the Southern Border as an invasion. [2]However, this type of anti-immigrant rhetoric is not new. Late-nineteenth-century language frequently described the influx of Chinese immigrants as an invasion. [3] The terminology used to describe and label people who immigrate to the United States illegally via the Southern Border has changed several times throughout the past 60 years. We have shifted from “undesirable” to “wetback” to “illegal immigrant” to “undocumented” throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. [4] These changes reflect an effort to be more politically correct and take on a softer approach when discussing immigration and immigrants. Despite these changes in terminology, the question of if deportation tactics have also changed still looms. This is one of the questions that this paper will seek to answer. This paper will delve into the summer of 1954 with Operation Wetback to look at Mexico’s role in Operation Wetback; where some of the terms for people who immigrate illegally comes from (especially the term ‘wetback’); if deportation tactics have changed; and, if modern-day U.S. immigration policy is related to that of the mid-twentieth century. This paper is an examination of the legacy of Operation Wetback.

The terminology surrounding people who come to the U.S. without proper authorization has changed over the years. As previously mentioned, Americans have gone from using the term “wetback” to “undocumented” in a span of about 60 years. The term “wetback” came about to describe Mexican nationals who illegally crossed into the United States via the Rio Grande - thus, having had a wet back. Today, this is a pejorative term and racial slur that is not considered appropriate. But, for Americans in the mid-twentieth century, it was not considered to be particularly offensive (to the masses). On the surface level, it seems like an odd choice for the United States government to have named an official policy “wetback,” given its awkward nature and history. However, it is crucial to think about why that name was chosen. At the time, “wetback” was still a jarring word. It immediately brought forth the idea that someone was committing a crime against the United States. They [wetbacks] were an enemy and a criminal. However, it is important to realize the nuance in the word. The Spanish translation is espaldas mojadas. And, for some Mexican-Americans, the term while being used by a Mexican or Mexican-American is not offensive. They mean it colloquially and as a descriptor term for people who immigrated to the United States. But, when used by a white person, it is offensive. [5] And this makes sense. The word was created by white people to be an offensive term for describing a minority group. This logic and methodology is similar to Black Americans who use the n-word but feel it is inappropriate, racist, and offensive for people of other racial and ethnic groups to also use the term.

The shift in terminology describing people who are not authorized to come to the United States reflects a palpable shift in the United States surrounding the way certain groups were discussed. “Wetback” as a descriptor began to decline in the 1960s and 1970s. In this same period, there were multiple movements and discussions being had about civil rights and the treatment of ethnic and racial minorities. “Wetback” was replaced with "illegal alien" through the late 1960s and 1970s. According to the United States Department of Justice, “illegal alien” is a term “to refer to foreign-born persons who entered the United States without inspection by the Immigration and Naturalization Service, or who entered legally as non-immigrants but remain after their authorized period of stay had expired.” [6] “Illegal alien” is similar to “illegal immigrant,” but has a different timeline. “Illegal alien” was prevalent throughout the 1970s and into the first half of the 1990s. After this period, it began to decline, and “illegal immigrant” began to become popular. [7] “Illegal alien” has more of a dehumanizing quality as it describes human beings as “aliens.” Today, “illegal immigrant” as the official term or descriptor has declined in popularity and has been subject to criticism because of the word “illegal.” The term can be described as a non-starter for discussions surrounding immigration policy. “America has a big problem with illegal immigration, but a big part of it stems from the word ‘illegal.’ It pollutes the debate. It blocks solutions… Since the word modifies not the crime but the whole person [as in “illegal immigrant”]...” [8] This gets at the crux of the issue with immigrants who were not authorized to be in the United States. Operation Wetback was not a true solution to a legitimate immigration problem. But rather, a joint attempt to rid America of a group that was demonized and viewed as a problem in the United States and to provide a “fix” to a problem in Mexico.

Oftentimes when discussing American immigration policy attention is unilaterally concerned with the United States’ policies and actions. However, this is not the most productive method. When analyzing Operation Wetback, discourse that does not acknowledge Mexico’s role will not sufficiently explain the operation. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the United States began to pass legislation to limit the amount and types of immigrants coming into the United States. This all begins with the passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. These laws targeted people coming to the U.S. from the Eastern Hemisphere, so Mexicans were not the targets of these laws. In 1942, the United States and Mexico agreed to the Bracero Program which allowed Mexican men to legally enter into the United States for work. Despite this program, many Mexicans entered outside of the program illegally. In the 1940s and 1950s, the Mexican government began to industrialize the agricultural sector. Mechanized farming and land privatization were being implemented, but the exodus of workers limited this process. For Mexico, the Bracero Program would have been a way to “control the international mobility of poor Mexican campesinos.” [9] But, this did not materialize well “as undocumented migration increased alongside the Bracero Program.” [10] Because of this, Mexico had a stake in Operation Wetback which necessitated Mexican officials participating in the operation. In exchange for participation in the program, the Mexican government demanded that the United States increase its border control and send Mexican nationals who circumvented the program back to Mexico. [11]

A combination of Mexico’s intense persuasion and INS Commissioner Joseph Swing’s desire for strict enforcement of immigration law came to create Operation Wetback. The decade of 1944 to 1954 was known as the “wetback decade.” The number of immigrants and INS apprehensions increased significantly each year. [12] In her book, Migra!: A History of the U.S. Border Patrol, Kelly Lytle Hernandez asserts that this could be interpreted as a loss of control of the border by the INS of “unsanctioned Mexican immigration.” [13] This is an interesting interpretation of the cause of Operation Wetback. According to the U.S. Border Patrol itself, the 1950s saw a period of expansion for the department with a task force developed by Attorney General Herbert Brownell Jr. of the Eisenhower administration“ to round up and ship home thousands of illegal immigrants from southern California. The task force moved to the lower Rio Grande valley, then to Chicago and other interior cities. The border patrol began expelling Mexican males by boatlift from Port Isabel, Texas, to Vera Cruz in September 1954.” [14] Essentially, the government is maintaining that the increase in border crossings necessitated Operation Wetback - though it is critical to note that they did not call the operation by its official name. Not heavily discussed in the CBP article is where the Mexican nationals were sent. As previously discussed, Mexico was a stakeholder in the operation and it was important for them that those who were deported did not return to the United States. To solve this problem, those who were deported were shipped to the interior of Mexico, far away from the borderlands. [15] This portion of Operation Wetback was under Mexico’s jurisdiction.

While there have not been any more true attempts to recreate Operation Wetback, the U.S. government has not made any truly successful inroads at fixing the unauthorized immigration problem. Deportations have continued, but have declined since 1954 which was an all-time high for the CBP. Under Former President Obama, three million unauthorized immigrants were sent back to their home countries. Because of his intensity on immigration, he became known as the “Deporter-in-Chief.” [16] Despite this, he also signed DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) which shielded young adults who were brought to the United States as children from deportation. This combination has muddied the waters on how to analyze his actions on immigration. While running as a candidate, Former President Trump explained that he would want to model his immigration policy after Operation Wetback. His comments were heavily criticized on all sides of the political spectrum because of the methodology of Operation Wetback - it is presently described as abusive to human rights, but also because of the logistical issues. The former president expressed his desire to deport 11 million undocumented immigrants in the same way that Former President Eisenhower did with one million. Despite these expressions, President Trump did not replicate Operation Wetback.. However, his presidency was heavily criticized due to the practice of separating children from their families and keeping them in ICE detention centers.

Although modern U.S. immigration policy is not following in the vein of Operation Wetback, there are still many issues that arise with the tactics used today. Unauthorized immigrants are still rounded up by ICE. The separation of children from their families will leave a stain on the United States in the same way that Operation Wetback has. Many U.S. citizens long for changes to immigration policy, but politics has gotten in the way of true and meaningful change. Operation Wetback was a futile attempt to rid the country of Mexican immigrants. The United States and Mexico forcibly removed Mexican nationals from the southwestern United States and shipped them back to central and southern Mexico. However, this did not solve the immigration issues. Mexicans and other Central Americans still move to the United States legally and illegally. If the Mexican and United States governments want to affect any lasting and positive changes, harkening back to Operation Wetback is not the most practical or humane method. The rhetoric that is used when discussing immigration problems and policies causes valid and effectual conversations to be halted. Officials should come up with better terminology that does not accurately describe the actions, not the people. Additionally, recognizing why people are fleeing their native countries to come here is critical. If the numbers of undocumented immigrants are to decrease, then solutions must get to the root of the problems; rather than simply inserting harsh and difficult-to-enforce policies.

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In Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, midwifery has traditionally been a thriving practice amongst the Maya peoples. Midwives have had an important place in rural indigenous communities because they primarily have been the ones to deliver babies.[1] However, since the latter half of the twentieth century; the Mexican government has discouraged women from delivering their babies with traditional midwives in favor of medicalized births in hospitals with physicians.[2] Essentially, this practice aids in the erasure of traditional practices and beliefs amongst the Maya, thus leading to the homogenization of Mexican society. Increased urbanization and industrialization have helped to increase access to hospitals and modern medicine as a whole. However, for maternal mortality, this has not necessarily translated to better health outcomes.[3] The UN’s Millennium Development Goals for beyond 2015 includes “Improve Maternal Health” as its fifth target, with that target being divided into two sections, 5. A: “Reduce by three-quarters, between 1990 and 2015, the maternal mortality ratio,” and 5. B: “Achieve, by 2015, universal access to reproductive health.”[4] Mexico has made major strides to try and meet that goal through increased access to hospitals. However, increased hospital access does not always translate to better care. For pregnant women, this has meant increased obstetric violence. This term was coined in Venezuela’s ‘Organic Law on the Right of Women to a Life Free of Violence’ in Article 15 of the law and is defined as: “…the appropriation of the body and reproductive processes of women by health personnel, which is expressed as dehumanized treatment, an abuse of medication, and to convert the natural processes [of labor] into pathological ones, bringing with it loss of autonomy and the ability to decide freely about their bodies and sexuality, negatively impacting the quality of life of women.”[5] This is especially an issue for Maya women in the Yucatán region because they are women of an ethnic minority, and frequently, are impoverished.[6] This paper will explore how the increase in medicalization and decrease in midwifery impacts Maya women in the Yucatán peninsula in Mexico, and the importance of traditional midwifery services for Maya women. Additionally, there will be discussion of practices that are utilized by Maya midwives.

Midwifery has been critically important for the Maya peoples, and despite the efforts of the Mexican government, midwives are still central to the lives of women in rural communities. They are the primary method of gynecological and obstetrical care for women in remote areas.[7] Despite not receiving much modern prenatal care, these women still see their midwives throughout their pregnancies prior to delivery. There is a focus on massage to ensure that the baby is in the correct positioning and is not breech, and to ensure the uterus is correctly positioned.[8] Massage to turn a baby into the correct position, known as an external cephalic version, is utilized by physicians and is noted to be successful.[9] Midwives have been revered in Maya communities because they have traditionally been viewed as medical professionals because of their extensive knowledge of medicinal plants and for taking care of pregnant women.[10]

Aside from the traditional knowledge of midwives, many indigenous women prefer to seek prenatal care and deliver their babies with midwives because of the negative experiences associated with state-run hospitals. Frequently, indigenous women are met with long wait times, a lack of cultural awareness, and language barriers.[11] For these reasons, many Maya women would rather deliver their babies at home with a traditional midwife. Many women also prefer to be in the comfort of their own home with more freedom to deliver their babies as they please. Traditionally, Maya midwives assist women in delivering their babies in a vertical position, such as kneeling or squatting, which allows for the force of gravity to help get the baby out.[12] In a traditional hospital setting, this is not the case and women are laying in a bed to deliver their babies.[13]

In the article “Narratives of Responsibility: Maternal Mortality, Reproductive Governance, and Midwifery in Mexico,” Sarah Williams explains that for the Mexican government, maternal mortality is why women should stop seeking midwives and see physicians instead. This is despite data showing that indigenous midwives pose less of a potential risk to maternal mortality than doctors in a hospital setting.[14] Regardless of the Mexican government’s concerns about midwifery, the practice is still important and widely desired by many Maya women. These women trust midwives and seek their expertise because they feel more comfortable with them and to avoid extraneous medical intervention.[15] Overmedicalization is a contributing factor to obstetric violence. Many women in the Yucatán peninsula, and other regions of Mexico, have their wishes ignored and are administered medications and procedures that they did not want. In “Ideal Citizens: The Birthing of State Truths and Fictions in Quintana Roo,” Sarah Williams exemplifies this with the experience of a non-indigenous woman named Eleanora who went to a private hospital in Tulum to deliver her baby. She informed the staff that she did not want Pitocin, yet they gave her an IV drip with Pitocin. She was also given an epidural, which she had a reaction to, and ultimately delivered her baby via Caesarean section. Upon being discharged, Eleanora asked for her hospital documents which indicated that she had an uncomplicated, planned Caesarean section. This erasure of reality helps to improve the look of hospitals in public opinion.

The Mexican government’s attempt to increase births in hospitals is reliant on two primary factors. The first is emphasizing good motherhood. To be a ‘good’ mother is to seek out prenatal care from a physician in a hospital setting and to deliver the baby in a hospital. The second is to diminish the reputation of midwives and midwifery as a practice. The government has emphasized midwifery as an outdated and primitive type of care that should be replaced.[16] This approach has led to administrative oversight of midwifery as a practice that is attempting to change how midwives are allowed to practice. In “Narratives of Responsibility,” Sarah Williams provides a case study of a young woman named Marcela who died from postpartum hemorrhage and her doctor was later found to not have been trained as a gynecologist despite being in good standing with the College of Obstetrics and Gynecology. After her death, traditional midwives registered with and known to the Ministry of Health in Quintana Roo were given new protocols aimed at reducing the maternal mortality rate. The explanation provided to the midwives was that Marcela’s and several other women’s deaths could have been linked to them having received prenatal care from a traditional midwife despite all of the deaths occurring in a hospital under the care of a doctor.[17] By linking these women’s deaths to the prenatal care of a traditional midwife, the government avoids having to explain and analyze the problems in practice occurring in state-run hospitals, while simultaneously showcasing efforts to increase access to hospitals because of issues with midwifery. Yet, this does a disservice to Maya and other rural and impoverished women. Poor administrative policies that do not address the root causes of maternal mortality will not increase health outcomes. Additionally, this could further restrict access to quality healthcare if traditional midwifery were to be further diminished. Many women would be forced to travel far for prenatal care and to deliver their babies in overrun and underfunded hospitals, which leads to medical negligence as in the case of Marcela. [18]

Midwifery for the Maya peoples in the Yucatán region is an important aspect of their communities. Midwives are renowned and revered for their work. They are also important for healthcare access. However, the Mexican government has attempted to diminish the role of the traditional midwife through overregulation and encouraging women to seek care from doctors in hospitals. This has not led to better health outcomes for women. Instead, women have been forced to travel far to endure obstetric violence and medical malpractice in overrun and underfunded hospitals. A better option for the Mexican government would be to recruit midwives and train them in sterile techniques and allow the midwives to practice in their villages. This could allow Maya women to have better access to care, improve health outcomes, and decrease the load on hospitals.

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HemisFair, held in San Antonio, Texas in 1968, was the first and only world’s fair to be held in the American Southwest. Jerome K. Harris (a local San Antonio business owner) originally proposed the idea of a “HemisFair” that would focus on Latin America. The idea was endorsed by Congressman Henry B. González, also a San Antonio native, who is most frequently credited with the proposal for the fair. [1] The theme of the fair became “The Confluence of Civilization in the Americas”, as part of the Pan-American trend that had dominated world’s fairs since 1901 with the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. The world's fairs have been an avenue to display and share culture since Great Britain’s Crystal Palace exhibit in 1851, however, early fairs often displayed indigenous peoples or other nationalities as oddities and exotics as a way to establish superiority and cultural dominance of the Europeans and Americans who were hosting the fairs. The Pan-American-themed fairs had sought to move away from this discriminatory display and celebrate the many cultures that made up the Americas, most however were unsuccessful in portraying these cultures accurately. The potential for San Antonio to adequately represent and include the Latin Americans in their fair was incredibly high considering Texas’s heritage with Mexico and with San Antonio having the largest Mexican American population in the United States. [2] With this previous trend of inadequately representing other cultures in the world’s fairs, was the 1968 HemisFair successful in displaying the “Confluence of Civilization in the Americas” in regard to the Latin American communities? Yes. HemisFair was successful in accurately representing Latin Americans, fair organizers went to great lengths to extend diplomacy and involve Latin American countries in a world fair for the first time. Yet, despite the upward mobility middle-class Mexican Americans of San Antonio experienced from the fair, lower-class Mexican Americans found little to no benefits from HemisFair. Lower-class Mexican Americans specifically faced exclusion and discrimination throughout the organizing, building, and execution of the fair. [3]

The design of HemisFair was more inclusive than previous Pan-American fairs and organizers put substantial thought into representing the confluence, or merging, of civilizations that created the Americas. This effort is best exemplified in the logo created for the fair, a swirling circle set to the left side of an outer circle. It is symbolic of the creation of the world and men traveling West where they merge and create the “Confluence of Civilizations in the Americas”, the theme for the fair. Additionally, HemisFair had four sub-themes: The Legacy, The Harvest, The Promise, and The Folklore. “The Legacy” became the main theme, which centered around becoming citizens of the Western Hemisphere through immigration. HemisFair organizers felt that this was a common ground between people of the Americas “all of whom sprang from the same common heritage-immigration.” [4] This symbolism and focus on immigration was exclusionary to the indigenous people of the Americas but was unique in the sense that it did not assign Otherness to any ethnicity. Whereas previous fairs intended to exhibit their superiority and excellence to the people attending, HemisFair intended to celebrate the cultures, specifically Latin cultures, that established the Americas.

In addition to the inclusion of Latin Americans in the design of the fair, many middle-class Mexican Americans took on leadership positions within HemisFair’s organization committee, San Antonio Fair, Inc. (SAF). Henry B. González, the first Mexican American from Texas to be elected to the U.S. House of Representatives, became the face of HemisFair. [5] He proposed the idea for HemisFair and oversaw its approval by Congress. González was able to use his place on the SAF committee to incorporate more Mexican Americans into leadership positions. Two of those men, Ed Castillo and Carlos Freymann acted as public relations, interpreters, and liaisons between the US and Latin American countries to promote HemisFair. Castillo and Freymann were given the position of ambassadors to Latin American countries, their ability to speak Spanish “reaffirmed the notion of Pan-American unity and helped mediate cross-cultural interactions.” [6] Henry A. Guerra, Jr., a San Antonio radio and television personality, introduced designs for a Plaza de Libertad (Liberty Plaza) that would showcase significant figures that contributed to America’s liberation. Although his designs did not make it into the final designs for the fair, Guerra contributed significantly by serving as “international department liaison” where he facilitated participation with Latinos during the fair preparations. [7] The contribution of these men was instrumental in the success of HemisFair’s goal of confluence between the United States and Latin American countries.

Not only was HemisFair unique in its goal of equal representation of Latin America, but many Latin countries collaborated in the organization and design of the fair. The Latin American Committee was formed to ensure San Antonio’s Latino community was involved and consulted. Further, the Pan-American Public Relations Association “included two representatives from each of the twelve major ‘Latin’ civic organizations”, who were consulted on ways to accurately incorporate Mexican culture and heritage into the fair. Henry Guerra also suggested collaboration with the Mexican Consulate which later led to the creation of a Mexican American Friendship Committee. Several Mexican architects and artists as well as the Brazilian landscapist, Roberto Burle Marx, were consulted and included in the designs for HemisFair. [8] Mexican artist and architect Juan O’Gorman was commissioned to create a piece for the fair. He created “Confluence of Civilizations in the Americas” and it welcomed guests at the entrance. [9] The Foreign Participation Area was created to provide exhibition space for other countries and “numerous” Latin American countries participated. [10] Mexico acted as a major contributor and sponsor of HemisFair. They boasted one of the largest exhibits. A pamphlet from the Mexican Pavillion boats of the rich history of Mexico as well as technological advancements the country had achieved in modernity, something Latin American countries had been denied in previous fairs that only incorporated their wild and indigenous past. [11] Coincidently, Mexico hosted the Olympics later that year, which both countries used to their advantage. Mexican and American officials wanted to encourage travel between the two events. The Pan-American Highway was advertised to promote this transportation. U.S. immigration officials were instructed to practice “goodwill” towards Mexican and Latin Americans traveling to HemisFair. However, this was not always observed when it came to working-class Mexicans because of the increased illegal migration that resulted from the Bracero Program that lasted from 1942-1964. [12]

With the intentional inclusion of Latin Americans, such as The American GI Forum and League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), in the design and organization of the fair by the SAF, many Latin and specifically Mexican American organizations saw the fair as an opportunity to “achieve full integration and… first-class citizenship.” [13] Texas officials hoped that the theme and the fair itself would “ease racial tensions between civil rights groups”, this garnered the help of Mexican American and African Americans activists with the expectation of increased jobs and economic opportunities for their communities. [14] Mexican American organizations and officials sought the use of pluralism, or incorporation with other Latin American communities, to increase their social and political identities. They began identifying themselves as “Latin American” rather than “Mexican American”, as in LULAC. [15] Although LULAC and the NAACP originally supported the fair, they realized that it did not provide the job opportunities and equality that were promised. Further, younger Latin organizations, such as Chicano activists and the Mexican American Youth Organization (MAYO), protested the fair from the beginning because of the racial inequality it highlighted, believing that “mega-event” like HemisFair only furthered class divisions. [16]

Although HemisFair provided leadership opportunities for middle-class Mexican Americans and Latin American countries, lower-class Mexican Americans experienced discrimination and exclusion by the SAF. The construction of the fairgrounds for HemisFair created ethnic tensions as it “emerged out of a process of ethnic erasure and urban cleansing.” [17] The city was still heavily segregated, as housing segregation had not ended in Texas until the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1968. [18] The site chosen for the fairgrounds destroyed a 92-acre multiethnic community and displaced over 2,300 residents. [19] In addition to losing their homes, lower-class Mexican Americans were largely excluded from participation in the fair because of the cost of the fair. A study done by Richard Harris demonstrates that despite the progress displayed towards the larger Latin American community in regards to HemisFair, the following generations of Mexican Americans experienced little upward mobility in socioeconomic status. Harris analyzed statistics for jobs held by different ethnicities in San Antonio and compared their annual incomes from different years throughout the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. In the conclusion of his study, he stated, “At present, it must be concluded that San Antonio Mexican Americans have not attained equal chances for occupational success even in the city's relatively favorable environment… Judging from the evidence of this analysis, no progress has been made toward the greater occupational integration.” [21] As a result, we must conclude that lower-class Mexican Americans remained lower-class and therefore received little to no benefit for the inclusivity of Latin Americans during HemisFair.

Despite the unfortunate exclusion of lower-class Mexican Americans in HemisFair ‘68, the fair was largely successful in achieving a “Confluence of Civilizations in the Americas.” Several Latin Americans not only participated in the fair but held leadership positions. They were accurately represented by the people of San Antonio and the multiple Latin Americans that were commissioned to assist in the design of the fair. Regarding the exclusion of lower-class Mexican Americans, it is difficult to argue that the exclusion resulted from racial discrimination since the SAF went to such great lengths to justly consult many facets of the Latin American community. Further research into this argument might include data about the participation of lower-class citizens of other ethnicities to determine whether the experiences of lower-class Mexican Americans was the result of racial discrimination or simply class discrimination.

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The streets of Izamal, a small town about 70 kilometers south of the capital Mérida on the Yucatán Peninsula, are filled with tourists and natives alike to see a tradition that dates back decades. The statue of Our Lady of Izamal is processed throughout the yellow town, beginning at the Convent of San Antonio de Padua, signifying the start of the weeklong celebration of the Immaculate Conception in early December. Flowers, songs, and worship are visible as the Blessed Virgin Mother makes her way throughout the town, which will lead to a Catholic mass. A sight different from the Maya celebrations documented by Franciscan Friar Diego de Landa (1524-1579) in the sixteenth century. [1]

Two thousand years before the arrival of the Spanish, Izamal was created as a religious center for the Maya named after the ancient Maya god Itzamna, where Mayas pilgrimed every year to partake in their festivities and celebrations. [2] Religion played an essential role in life for the native Maya. In Izamal, the Maya culture was represented by five grand religious structures and monuments associated with local deities; Kinich Ahau (Sun God), whose image is on the side of one of the temples. These celebrations and festivals date back to the completion of Uxmal and Chichén Itzá (550-800 AD). [3] This is seen in the Mayas' celebrations, dedicating time and effort to the dead in vast cemeteries dedicated to the deities for some specific quality. Artwork around Izamal that shows celebrations occurring; can also be seen hidden in some murals of the Convent of San Antonio de Padua, showing the Maya culture did not die with their conversion.[4] Pilgrimages happened to this area for the five structures, resulting in festivals and dedications to the gods they stand for, such as Kinich Ahau through tribunal war dances. These festivals were known throughout the calendar year and included sacrifices of animals and dedication with various precious stones like gold and silver to please their deities. [5] This was done to stop droughts, cure illness or appease demons noted by Landa in his writings. Other reports of these sacrifices are said to have been destroyed by Landa in destroying the Maya codices.

The entire Yucatán Peninsula, not just Izamal, saw a religious revival with the Spanish Catholic priests of the Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians, and Jesuits orders.[6] Throughout the region, native labor was used to build churches and parishes to become a staple in their culture. The Blessed Virgin Mother, or, what Catholics call the Immaculate Conception, was the driving force behind Bishop Diego de Landa’s obligation they had as a Franciscan priest [7] to evangelize the native population. This devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mother would prove its importance by introducing the statue and image of Our Lady of Izamal. The Convent of San Antonio de Padua was shown with significant importance when Friar Landa completed construction in his book Yucatán Before and After Conquest, which took away from the other religious structures in Izamal. Friar Landa was then sent to Guatemala after repenting for the destruction of the Maya codices to construct two statues of the Blessed Mother. One for Izamal and the other for Mérida. These statues became the area's centerpiece and are officially known for helping the region more than once. The friar’s statue is in the monumental yellow building seen today in Izamal. It was moved back and forth across the peninsula, where stories of incredible miracles took place. Recorded in engraved stone, these miracles remedied epidemics, grasshopper plagues, and other natural disasters in the area. [8] However, in 1829, a fire destroyed the original statue of Our Lady. In due and just service to the crown, the second statue in Mérida was gifted to the Izamal, signifying the Blessed Virgin's sheer importance in this area.

These festivals for Our Lady of Izamal began in the colonial era with the Spanish and have lasted into the twenty-first century, which has grown vastly. These celebrations are always practiced on the week of December 8th, the feast day of the Immaculate Conception. Dedication to Our Lady in recent years has shown up in more research, and we see an increase in pilgrimages to Izamal every year. In Ilia Alvarado-Sizzos's study, she shows that between December 8th to December 12th, around 8,000 pilgrims make their way to Izamal to celebrate the festivities. These festivities are documented in prayers such as novenas, chaplets, and the most holy rosary, worship with music, and devotion in food and markets to Our Lady in search of miracles or thanksgiving. They offered a different picture than the Maya festivities Landa noted before Our Lady's introduction. However, the main message portrayed by Our Lady has remained the same since Friar Landa dedicated it to Izamal: that she is the divine protector of the town, and the people are worthy of divine intervention. [9] Various festivities happen, including a fair that offers vendors throughout Izamal where food, alcoholic beverages, clothes, religious souvenirs, and other items can be bought in Our Lady’s honor. Other festivities provide a more spiritual tone, such as mass, singing birthday hymns, and offering flowers to the images. There is also a holy relic dedication that individuals believe in holding divine power that will protect them throughout the year. The celebration is done by both natives and foreigners from across the globe to show their dedication to the true power Our Lady offers and is still present to this day. A few things have changed since the Spanish Colonial era, but the devotion to Our Lady of Izamal has remained constant since her introduction in the 16th century.

The old Maya religious center, now home to La Ciudad Amarilla (The Yellow City), offers a sense of magical powers in healing, grace, and vast miracles that date back to the mid-sixteenth century. In December, pilgrims trek to this small town on the Yucatán Peninsula to show gratitude and witness one of the Catholic Church’s key figures: Our Lady of Izamal. In a culture that once celebrated various deities, there now stands an image and statue of the Blessed Virgin where thousands come every year to pray and worship in Marian tradition. [10]

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On a hot, June day of 1963, a large flatbed truck drives through the metropolitan area of Houston, Texas carrying cargo in a steel cage. Within the unbreakable enclosure resides not a living creature, but a nearly nine-foot tall basalt monolith from the jungles of Mexico. The monument, representing the head of an ancient Olmec ruler or deity, attracts the attention of many Houstonians as it embarks on its temporary home. According to the Houston Chronicle, the colossal Olmec head from the San Lorenzo archaeological site in Veracruz, Mexico, named San Lorenzo Head no. 2, overlooked downtown Houston. Head 2, positioned in front of Cullinan Hall of the Houston Fine Arts Museum, remained on display as part of the art exhibition, "The Olmec Tradition," from June 18 to August 25 of 1963. [1]

What unique characteristics did this colossal head offer to its visitors? What distinguished Head 2 from the other Olmec heads? To better understand this, a proper narrative of Head 2 requires a necessary contextualization. The mentioned context must feature a brief explanation of the monument’s “discovery” by Matthew Stirling, who introduced Head 2 into twentieth-century modern history. Additionally, the narrative must explore the monument’s quest from San Lorenzo to Houston, organized by James Johnson Sweeney, the Director of the Houston Fine Arts Museum. Through Stirling’s “discovery” and the great efforts accomplished by Sweeney, San Lorenzo Head 2 represented more than an ancient artifact; it symbolized the American appreciation of Pre-Columbian art and culture during the 1960s.

In 1945, archaeologist Matthew Stirling and his wife traveled to the Mexican state of Veracruz. The modern state of Veracruz was established in the Olmec region along the Gulf of Mexico. What remains of the Olmec in this specific part of Veracruz lies within three archaeological sites: San Lorenzo, Tenochtitlán, and Potrero Nuevo. Archaeologists often refer to these sites as San Lorenzo Tenochtitlán. In his 1955 paper to the Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin, titled “Stone Monuments of Río Chiquito, Veracruz, Mexico,” he recounted his first encounter with Head 2. A local village of indigenous people guided the Stirlings to the many Olmec monuments remaining in San Lorenzo. David Grove, author of "Discovering the Olmecs," states that Head 2 was the first of two heads Stirling observed and recorded. Due to the second head’s larger size, Stirling ultimately named it “’San Lorenzo Colossal Head 1,’ and the head seen earlier in the day, although found first, ‘Colossal Head 2’”. [2] Stirling left Head 2 in a 10-foot deep hole and drew a map in his notes to where the head rested.

The astonishing and unique appearance of San Lorenzo Head 2 distinguishes itself among the other discovered Olmec heads. Stirling offers a first-hand account report of the monument in situ. He found the head mostly buried underneath the trail from San Lorenzo to Tenochtitlán with only a small portion exposed to the surface. The head’s height measured 2.7 meters (8’10”) with a width of 1.9 meters (6’3”). He explained that the head lacked significant damage; nevertheless, it presented distinctive evidence of erosion. Long-term erosion caused the head to lose many of its detailed facial features. The specific eroded facial features are visible on the head’s left side, which faced upwards. The right side of the head, which laid completely buried in the soil, presented minimal signs of erosion and remained relatively untouched. Like the right side of the head, he explained that the earth perfectly preserved the rear segments of Head 2.

In his writings, Stirling made interesting conclusions regarding the positions of the San Lorenzo heads. He stated, “the San Lorenzo monuments appear all to have been intentionally overthrown and many of them cast into the ravines.” [3] He concluded that the monuments were later moved by the more recent indigenous people who currently occupied the San Lorenzo region. Could the disposal of these heads signify political or religious purposes? Amber VanDerwarker’s "Farming, Hunting, and Fishing in the Olmec World" provides context regarding Gulf lowland Olmec people. As part of the Gulf lowland Olmec groups, the people of San Lorenzo thrived during the Early (1400-1000 BCE) and Middle (1000-400 BCE) Formative periods. VanDerwarker illustrates the social and political construct present in the architecture of San Lorenzo. She states that the site offered “extensive mound-building and monument construction, symbols of the power wielded by regional leaders,” to which this assertion supports contextualization of an Olmec ruler or deity. [4]

Interested in the expansion of Pre-Columbian Mexican art throughout the United States, James Johnson Sweeney became fascinated in Stirling’s 1945 excursion to Mexico. As the director of the Houston Fine Arts Museum, he provided background regarding the acquisition of Head 2 in the art catalog titled "The Olmec Tradition," named after the exhibit. The relatively close proximity made the task of transporting the massive head successful. The board of directors accounted for Houston’s growing Hispanic population when considering a Mesoamerican art display. Sweeny desired an exhibition of the earliest Mesoamerican culture, which led him to the appreciation of colossal Olmec heads. With the assistance of John F. Kennedy and Lyndon B. Johnson, Thomas Mann, a US ambassador to Mexico, met with Dr. Eusebio Dávalos Hurtado, the Director of Mexico’s National Institute of History and Anthropology (INAH). When Mann asked about Mexico loaning an Olmec head to Houston, Dávalos asked, “why not bring out the only known remaining head which is still in the jungle on the island of San Lorenzo?” [5] His advice influenced Sweeney to embark upon a quest into the Veracruz jungles.

In June of 1962, Sweeney arranged a flight to Mexico, where he would then board a private helicopter to San Lorenzo Tenochtitlan to film a documentary. With the local pilot having never heard of San Lorenzo, Sweeney relied on the 1945-1946 field notes of Matthew Stirling to guide him to the last colossal head, specifically Stirling’s map of the head’s location. The map guided Sweeney to multiple villages in the San Lorenzo region. Finally, Sweeney and the pilot circled the helicopter around the space where the villagers believed the head resided. Once both men spotted the head from the sky, the pilot landed the helicopter for Sweeny to get a closer look. The gentlemen failed to find the head on foot. The helicopter returned to the sky and hovered over Head 2 until Sweeney could reach it. The massive head rested on its side in the 10-foot deep hole that Stirling and his team had excavated years before. [6]

After many dilemmas, Sweeney finally removed the head from its home in the summer of 1963. The only way to safely transport the head from Mexico to Houston was by ship. However, Sweeney and his team of engineers, provided by the Consejo Nacional Turismo, needed to move the monument out of the jungle first. The absence of roads forced locals to clear a path for the sole purpose of transporting the head out of the jungle. With the help from machetes and bulldozers, the team crafted a suitable road for a large flatbed truck to approach the head’s resting place. The bulldozer flattened the ground around the resting spot of Head 2. With the proper tools, the men used the bulldozer to drag the head onto the flatbed. The truck experienced many issues along the newly constructed road, such as getting stuck in the thick mud and in two flowing streams. [7]

After a long trek, the head arrived in the more urban areas of Mexico, which made the delivery of Head 2 much easier for all parties involved. The truck entered the first real road in Ojapa and continued to the coastal town of Coatzacoalcos, where it eventually shipped to Houston. The crane aboard the ship transferred Head 2 onto yet another flatbed truck. The monument, now encased in a steel cage for its own protection, slowly moved through the metropolitan streets of Houston. The museum prepared a new resting area for the head in front of Cullinan Hall during its visit in Houston, where it would remain there until its return to Mexico. Head 2 would transfer to the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City. [8]

The summer of 1963 lay witness to Houstonians connecting with rulers of Pre-Columbian Americas. Head 2 and its accompanying artifacts showcased to Houstonians the significance of Olmec culture. The Olmec Tradition presented art that represented the history of Mexico, and in turn early North American history. Influential in its time, this exhibition would pave the way for recognition of the Hispanic population in Houston through the expression of ancient and modern art.

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Deep in the lush jungles of Central America lives an abundance of unique wildlife. The sounds of the jungle thrive and harmonize as the tropical birds, frogs, and insects call to one another. Within the blooming canopy, a loud howl breaks through the tropical rainforest’s natural ambience. The large black-furred primate proclaims another loud call to ward off any rivals of its own species. Using its agile limbs and prehensile tail, the howler monkey moves quickly through its ecological niche to protect its young and other members of the troop. As the largest of the New World monkeys, howlers remain an important and protected animal throughout their Latin American countries. Only two species of howlers live in the Yucatán region of Mexico: the mantled howler monkey (Alouatta palliata) and Yucatán/Guatemalan black howler monkey (Alouatta pigra). Scholars from a diverse array of fields have implemented human and non-human primate encounters in their research, including archaeologists, environmental scientists, and primatologists. Like most aspects of nature, howler monkeys and other primates have been portrayed as backdrops in most historical narratives. How have howler monkeys historically impacted Central American societies, and how have they impacted contemporary societies? What struggles do howlers face in the destructive environment of the "Anthropocene"?

According to "New World Monkeys: The Evolutionary Odyssey" by Alfred L. Rosenberger, howler monkeys belong to the Atelidae family, which feature the prehensile-tailed frugivores and folivores. All howler monkeys are classified under the unique subfamily of Alouattinae and the genus Alouatta. Known for emitting loud calls throughout their environment, a howler monkey’s infamous call measures at approximately 150 decibels and can be heard from miles across the jungle. [1] Their vocalizations result from an enlarged hyoid bone and extension of their larynx. Howler monkeys, specifically male howlers, use their vocal calls as a means to ward off any rival monkey troop. Additionally, the howls warn other members of their troop of any nearby potential predators. Consequently, the loud vocalizations attract the attention of many organisms, including humans.

Howlers and other species of monkeys have not only fascinated contemporary societies, but also the people of Pre-Columbian civilizations and the early European explorers of Central and South America. Very few Spanish documents provide early accounts of howlers and other Neotropical monkeys. For instance, the accounts of Hernando Colón regarded a monkey encounter that his father experienced on the island of Trinidad. Additionally, limited examples of monkey representations in Maya art and culture exist. The Maya and other Mesoamerican civilizations expressed each species of monkey differently in their art. In their article, “Revisiting Monkeys on Pots,” Prudence M. Rice and Katherine E. South analyze 97 Maya pots dated from the Classic-period. Each pot presents a visual representation of a monkey. Rice and South discuss the debates among scholars regarding the species of monkey portrayed on the pots. They explain that the three common monkeys living in the Lowland region, which included a species of spider monkey and two species of howler monkeys (Alouatta palliata and pigra), are all worthy candidates. Additionally, they assert the presence of capuchin monkeys since a pot presents an identical monkey engraving. [2] They describe the art of howlers as having human-like hands and with open mouths to show their vocal attributes. Whereas, the Maya feature spider monkeys with long limbs and more anthropogenic characteristics than that of other Neotropical primates, such as howlers. Though “Revisiting Monkeys on Pots” provides an excellent interpretation of Maya art regarding Neotropical monkeys, other sources contribute to this topic, as well.

Biologist Emiliano Bruner and anthropologist Andrea Cucina offer another solid source that expresses primate representations in Mesoamerican societies. Their article, “Alouatta, Ateles, and the Ancient Mesoamerican Cultures,” examines primate representation in Mesoamerican art and culture, which concludes the dominance of Ateles (spider monkeys) in Mesoamerican art compared to that of Alouatta. Utilizing the stories of the Popol Vuh, Bruner and Cucina claim that monkeys, both Alouatta and Ateles, were the gods’ second attempt at creating humans. This shows the Mesoamerican Amerindians’ consciousness regarding the evolutionary relationship between human and non-human primates. To further prove this, Cucina and Bruner explain that monkey, or monkey-like creatures, often appear in art representations of the underworld. They argue that this connection between humans and monkeys “could be linked to their ancestral state of pre- or proto-human creatures.” [3] Their analysis provides a thorough ethnozoological interpretation of Neotropical monkeys in Central American civilizations. However, other scholars have also delved further into the topic of ethnozoology to better understand the ethnoprimatological aspects of Mesoamerican civilizations.

In "Howler Monkeys: Developments in Primatology: Progress and Prospects," edited by Martín M. Kowalewski, Paul A. Garber, Liliana Cortés-Ortiz, Bernardo Urbani, and Dionisios Youlatos, the researchers further explore the topic of ethnoprimatology, specifically concerning howler monkeys. In their chapter titled “The Ethnoprimatology of the Howler Monkeys (Alouatta spp.): From Past to Present,” Urbani and Lorretta A. Cormier consider how humans and howler monkeys have interacted. They utilize from ethnological accounts of indigenous groups and from the archaeological record to support their arguments. Moreover, Urbani and Cormier explain that human and howler interactions remain evident through the zooarchaeological record. A tooth of an Alouatta palliata specimen was uncovered in a village of merchants at Teotihuacán, which dated to Xolalpan Period (400–650 years CE). [4] The chapter also discusses how contemporary indigenous groups throughout both Central and South America applied the howler in their customs and beliefs. For example, some societies implement the howler in their diets, while other societies view the consumption of such animals as taboo. Another example takes place in Mexico, where a group of researchers collected data regarding the Popoluca people and the cultural significance of local primates. In their article, “The Primate Cultural Significance Index: Applications with Popoluca Indigenous People at Los Tuxtlas Biosphere Reserve,” the research team explains that the Popoluca people have coexisted with howlers in a shared environment. Though howlers are absent in the Popoluca myths, the people believe that their calls predict the changes in the rainy and dry seasons. [5] These examples present how howlers impacted Central and South American societies from an anthrozoological viewpoint.

The visual representations and inclusion of howlers in Mesoamerican culture highlight their importance to Pre-Columbian Amerindians. In the modern era, the influence between the human and non-human primates have reversed targets and shifted the impact from cultural to environmental. Like many animals across the globe, howlers have gradually become victims of the "Anthropocene". In 1956, the Alouatta pigra population suffered from a jungle yellow fever epidemic. This disease was first introduced to the Americas from Africa during the Columbian exchange. [6] Due to hunting, deforestation, and the pet trade, humans have impacted wild howlers exponentially. Awareness and many conservation efforts have helped maintain a stable howler population throughout many Latin American countries. Robert H. Horwich’s article “Effective Solutions for Howler Conservation” focuses on the howler’s conservation in Belize. Though not in the Yucatán, the Community Baboon Sanctuary (CBS) protects howlers who thrive within the Maya region. In this article, he explores the purposes of the CBS and how their work simultaneously helps the resident wildlife, while economically helping their local communities. Organized by environmental factors that all howlers experience, his article discusses logging disturbance, hunting, and human co-existence. Horwich argues that the impact of logging disturbances on howlers and other primates vary by their tolerance and adaptability to survive in a regenerating forest. He states that human logging efforts produce “major changes in group ranging and activity patterns, in order to avoid activity.” [7] Horwich stresses that logging not only causes the death of many juvenile and mature howlers, but also causes higher howler infant mortality. He explains that howlers, as well as other primates, have the potential to recover once humans allow the forest to regenerate. [8]

Horwich explains that the conservation efforts of the CBS work with willing local farmers and landowners. Using maps of each landowner’s property, Horwich and his team formed specific plans that benefited both the landowner and the howlers. With the support of local governments, the plan included leaving strips of forestry between milpa cuttings, properties, and near rivers. Additionally, the strategy included leaving “aerial pathways of trees across large cleared areas, and to leave specific food trees for howlers.” [9] Horwich found that local participants financially benefited due to the increase in ecotourism. Though this research is relatively old, the issues discussed in this article still remain important issues today. Horwich teams with Taylor V. Stein, Jane Southworth, and Miriam S. Wyman to coauthor another study titled “Does Population Increase Equate to Conservation Success? Forest Fragmentation and Conservation of the Black Howler Monkey” to examine the forest fragmentation and its effect on howler populations, or Baboon populations as locals call them. This relatively recent study applies modern spatial sciences and methodologies to present a more in-depth study. Analyzing his findings, Horwich pleads that more landowners must become active in forest fragmentation. He states that the howler’s “ability to minimize energy expenditure through small home ranges (and short-day ranges), relatively small troop size, and highly folivorous and flexible diets improves conservation likelihood.” [10] Though this examination emphasizes on forests and habitat loss, howlers remain the primary fatality disturbed by these anthropogenic changes.

Whether howlers influenced aspects of Mesoamerican culture or humans altered the howler’s environment, their interactions have clearly impacted each other throughout history. This subject has attracted numerous scholars from their many specialized fields, bringing together the life and social sciences for the purpose of conserving this unique animal. Though attempts to protect howlers exist, more efforts remain essential. Humans have continued to contribute to the "Anthropocene" extinction event, which risks the future of howlers becoming its next potential target. More attention, academic research, and conservation efforts will keep the howler monkey a living Mesoamerican treasure.

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The arid desert terrain vibrates as an incoming stampede approaches a Mexican town. Upon the horses, ride the mighty Comanche people. They gallop to pillage the resources of the Mexican settlers, who inhabit the land that once belonged to the Comanche. Though many historians detail these raids, few scholars attempt to construct a holistic understanding of the nineteenth-century U.S.-Mexican borderland disputes with the indigenous. The United States and Mexico presented legislation, such as the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, to bring peace among both countries and to maintain control over the Amerindian population. This study examines the impact of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and the Mexican-American War on the indigenous people. One crucial article in the treaty, Article XI, allied the two governments against the growing threat of indigenous encounters in the newly established U.S-Mexico borderlands. Additionally, this study further explores the indigenous struggles against the rising U.S. and Mexican powers in the nineteenth-century. Thus, the legislation and rhetoric of Article XI exhibited the dehumanization of the Amerindians and their culture.

The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo remains an essential aspect of U.S.-Mexican diplomacy. Signed on February 2, 1848, the treaty ended the Mexican-American War and forged new boundaries between both countries. According to Richard Griswold de Castillo’s The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo: A Legacy of Conflict, the treaty consisted of twenty-three articles. Article XI explained the U.S.-Mexican management concerning hostile indigenous raids. The treaty bestowed the responsibilities of indigenous supervision to the U.S. government. The agreement enforced the U.S. to protect the citizens of both countries from these attacks. Additionally, Article XI prohibited the U.S. from purchasing any captive or stolen property of Mexico from the Amerindians. The U.S. government ensured to rescue and return the captives to Mexico. Ultimately, Article XI formed an alliance between the U.S. and Mexico, which required the United States to police the entire borderlands region of any indigenous raids. [1]

Before the Mexican-American War, Mexican settlers of the northern states suffered a long period of indigenous raids. In the 1830s, many southern plains Amerindians raided Mexican towns, ranches, and haciendas. The Amerindians who participated in the raids included the Comanche and Kiowa. [2] Brian DeLay, professor of history at the University of California Berkeley, emphasizes the importance of Article XI. He discusses its strong demand among the citizens of Northern Mexico. In his monograph, War of A Thousand Deserts: Indian Raids and the U.S. – Mexican War, DeLay provides data regarding Amerindian and Mexican violence along the northern states. He collected the data from various archival sources dating from 1831 to 1848. DeLay presents graphs that account the number of Mexican and Comanche/Kiowas deaths. The Amerindian communities killed approximately 2649 Mexican settlers, whereas the settlers killed an estimated 702 Comanches and Kiowas. [3]

The number of violent accounts within this region encouraged the passing of Article XI in the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. According to DeLay’s article, “Independent Indians and the U.S.-Mexican War,” most northern Mexicans believed that their government failed to protect them from Amerindian raids. During this period, the Mexican government’s resources and security lacked in the northern states due to the conflicts between the centralists and federalists of Mexico. This forced northern Mexicans to turn to foreign powers. Under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, the U.S. managed all indigenous raids for the northern states of Mexico. Northern Mexicans viewed the U.S. government as their saviors from the native raids. [4] According to a treaty ambassador named Nicholas Trist, the northern states of Mexico agreed to the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo solely for Article XI. [5]

DeLay and others illuminate the Mexican perspective on the raids of the Comanche people during the Mexican-American War. As the dominant indigenous raiders within the borderlands, the Comanche continued to attack the weakened and distracted Mexico throughout the Mexican-American War. [6] According to Pekka Hämäläinen, author of The Comanche Empire, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo forced the Comanche’s home territory to fall in the center of U.S. control. He examines how the powerful Comanche viewed themselves as vigorous combatants and diplomats during the Mexican–American War. [7] In 1846, Pia Kusa, a Comanche leader, attempted to negotiate with the U.S. to form an alliance against Mexico in return for arms and ammunition. U.S. General John Wool rejected his request. Wool then threatened, the Comanche with punishment if they attempted to raid any Mexican town without motive. [8] Cases such as these strengthened the settlers’ calls for action, and proved the importance of Article XI for both countries. Later, Hämäläinen discusses how the United States’ obligations to protect Mexico from Amerindian raids proved to be impossible. The extensive resources became too costly. Instead, Indian agents, such as James Calhoun, dispatched emissaries to the Comanche territory, known as Comanchería, to purchase any Mexican captives and return them to their country. [9] Calhoun’s approach followed the agreement as stated in Article XI.

For the local indigenous peoples, the new legislation between the U.S. and Mexican powers proved to be problematic. The conflicts in the borderlands occurred during the height of the United States’ oppression of the Amerindians. The U.S. government prioritized the removal and elimination of natives. For instance, the U.S. military attempted to annihilate the American bison. As an important resource and cultural symbol to many plains Amerindians, the bison’s extinction meant the extinction of the Comanche and other indigenous groups. [10] Thankfully, the U.S. military’s efforts failed. The white settlers of the United States considered other methods of indigenous removal. They believed that the Amerindian presence posed an obstacle for Manifest Destiny. In Rhetoric and Reality on the U.S.-Mexico Border: Place, Politics, Home, K. Jill Fleuriet, professor of anthropology at the University of Texas at San Antonio, focuses her research on the Rio Grande Valley of Texas and reconstructs the contemporary idea of the border. When contextualizing this important monograph, Fleuriet states that Manifest Destiny and colonialism share an “expansion for land, belief that indigenous communities were inferior and dangerous, and a religious and moral justification to conquer and assimilate.” [11] Article XI strictly highlighted the indigenous people of the borderlands as “savage” and dangerous. [12] Nineteenth century discourse concerning Amerindians shifted cultural and social processes. The policies between U.S. and Mexico exhibited this type of vocabulary.

Scholars have inspected the distasteful discourse within the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo’s Article XI. The phrasing within the treaty portrayed the natives as villains, and not as a society who lost their home to the practices of Manifest Destiny. The rhetoric referred to the Amerindian communities as “savage tribes,” which displayed a damaging bias within the foundation of this document. [13] Viewing the natives as “dangerous” assisted in the U.S. government’s endeavor to occupy native lands. The rhetoric of Article XI influenced other Amerindian communities. Blake Gentry and his team examine the topic of elimination in their article “Indigenous Survival and Settler Colonial Dispossession on the Mexican Frontier.” They follow the Tohono O’odham, a sedentary Sonoran indigenous group, and their toils for land rights. The authors, a team comprising of various interdisciplinary fields, explain that elimination involved occupying a targeted group’s land, rather than directly destroying a group’s race or identity. Because a community’s land presented an aspect of their character, land stripping helped the U.S. and Mexican powers dehumanize the Tohono O’odham, the Comanche, and all the indigenous groups. [14]

Gentry states that Article XI specifically targeted horse-riding indigenous communities, which included the Comanche. In addition to the Mexican citizens, equestrian communities often raided the Tohono O’odham. Alas, the treaty failed to offer U.S. protection for sedentary indigenous communities. Additionally, Brendan Lindsay, author of Murder State: California’s Native American Genocide, 1846-1873, reveals another factor regarding the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo’s neglect towards Amerindians. The U.S. provided Mexican citizens, who lived in the newly acquired territory, the choice to remain a citizen of Mexico or to become a U.S. citizen. The treaty failed to address any citizenship concerns to the indigenous peoples of California. [15] Though the treaty directly targets equestrian native groups, it also inflicted a strong impact on sedentary groups.

While the settlers of Mexico benefitted from the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo’s Article XI, the Amerindians struggled under the dehumanizing laws established to steal their land. The historical narratives prove that the nineteenth-century borderlands were a harsh environment under constant unrest for all participants. This research shows that legislation with an ethnocentric bias forms a foundation of destructive policies within a territory. Future laws then stem from these discriminatory institutions affecting contemporary communities. This analysis shows the violent side of several societies, and how it remains essential to explore perspectives from many historical players. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo forged an essential aspect of the U.S.-Mexico borderlands. Its impact will continue to welcome new historical questions from future scholars of U.S.-Mexico relations and indigenous studies.

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On August 22, 1895, Dr. R. D. Spalding traveled to Mexico City with a committee representing the Atlanta Cotton States and International Exposition. Upon entering the Mexican palace, the vice chairman presented an invitation to President Porfirio Diaz requesting his personal attendance to Atlanta’s event. In a speech given by Dr. Spalding, President Diaz was urged to contribute an exhibit representing the nation’s products and raw materials, that they, being sister republics, might grow closer in trade. The President was so ecstatic with the manner of the Americans that he interrupted Dr. Spalding mid-speech exclaiming, “I have fallen in love with you already!” A couple days later, Dr. Spalding traveled about 400 kilometers to San Luis Potosi where Governor Carlos Diez Gutierrez invited the Americans to view the city’s massive silver smelter, enjoy several concerts, and discuss the exposition. Dr. Spalding and a senior committee comrade attended a properly executed Mexican bullfight, reportedly, to their incredible enjoyment.

World’s fairs were massively popular, large, and expensive events enjoyed and pursued by people from all across the globe. Not only a great source of fun and excitement, but fairs gave various organizations, states, and countries an opportunity to present their cultures, resources, industries, and architecture for the rest of the world to see. One such fair was the Cotton States and International Exposition of Atlanta, Georgia held at Piedmont Park from September 18, 1895, through December 31, 1895. Stated in the Official Guide to the Cotton States and International Exposition, “the prime object [of the exposition is] to cultivate closer trade relations with South, Central, and Latin American republics.” In the late nineteenth century, the South underwent massive political, societal, economical, and industrial transformations. Some southern leaders and capitalists worked to embrace these shifts and build a New South, which would gain trade relationships with the North, as well as internationally. They wanted to sell the raw materials their land provided: cotton, tobacco, lumber, and coal being at the top of the list. The New South believers had two, most-recognized goals for hosting their exposition: boosterism and increasing trade relations with Mexico, Central, and South American markets. Upon researching Mexico’s role at the exposition, some fascinating information is revealed. Yet little is discussed about how the Mexican government took advantage of this particular world fair. Instead, despite the intensity with which southern and Mexican diplomats and capitalists pursued each other, scholars find a plethora of stories about bullfights and sword fights. [2]

President Diaz promoted the Cotton States and International Exposition around his nation and alerted the committee that a large space would be needed for a planned elaborate Mexican Village. Indeed, a map found in the Official Guide reveals that the Village sat on the largest parcel for an individual nation at Piedmont Park. Drawn on the map are the bullpen, the music stand which would host the Mexican Eighth Regiment military band, a cathedral, and theater. It is apparent by the many newspaper articles printed in Georgia that Mexico was of great interest to southerners, however, not much was found about the particular products and trade ventures resulting from the exposition. Instead, an incredible controversy reveals itself. That is of the proposed bullfights.

Folks all across the nation apparently took issue with the idea of watching bulls be tormented by waving red flags and metal lances, with the potential for ultimate death. This common source of entertainment in Mexico was suddenly under intense scrutiny, including by a southern public who ironically had been forced to cease torturing a whole race of humans just a few decades earlier. On July 25th, the Christian Index published an article disgracing the exposition board for deciding to compromise, allowing the fights if the bulls were not harmed or killed during the show. They referred to the event as being an example of “Mexican barbarism” and claimed that it would be “a mistake to offer such things as educational features.” These harsh accusations reveal judgement and prejudice toward Mexico. Rather than embrace the fights, under the compromise of bull safety, as an acceptable contribution to the exhibit of Mexican culture, many southerners used the example to demoralize Mexican culture. Several times, variations of the word “barbarian” were used. The fact that the Mexican commissionaires were willing to move forward with the bullfights in a softer depiction was not enough to satisfy the naysayers. The exposition President, C. A. Collier, wrote a letter which was partly published in the local newspapers that in order to protect the board’s image, it was decided that the bullfights would not be permitted. This letter was printed just a few days after Dr. Spalding’s splendid experience at the Mexican bullfight he attended in San Luis Potosi. [3]

As the story develops, we see that on September 18th another article is published. Prior to exhibit preparations, Mexican Village commissioner Mr. J. M. Porteous, had agreed to a contract with exposition authorities which stated that the bullfights would be allowed, and he had moved forward under this assumption. When questioned on the issue, Porteous asserted that if the committee did not allow him to carry on with the shows, he would sue them. On September 23rd, five days after opening day, a resolution still had not been made. The reality was that both the exposition committee, and the Mexican Village manager had widely advertised the bullfighting as a main attraction of the exposition, and it seemed a difficult decision to make with the public demanding that the barbaric torture of bulls be erased from the program. [4]

Less than two weeks after opening day, the frustrated Mr. Porteous had another debacle to face. It appears that two Mexican men engaged in a violent fight for love. It was said that the two men involved, one being a matador (a bullfighter), the other a “lazador” (the person who lasso’s the bull), were vying for the same lady’s attention. When one succeeded in taking her on a romantic walk, the other proposed a duel. The Macon Telegraph claims that one man had been badly wounded in the side, “blood spurting,” when Mr. Porteous arrived, just in time to save the lover from a “death-dealing stab.” Despite some journalists embellishing otherwise, no one was severely injured, nor was anyone arrested. Yet this sword fight made it into various newspapers for several days. Amongst tens of thousands of people, hundreds of displays, and innumerable opportunities for entertainment, a brief fight between two Mexican men was of great amusement and mockery to the general southern public.[5]

Finally, by November 2^nd, Mr. Porteous and his fellow commissionaires won, sort of. A month and a half after the fair commenced, visitors would be welcomed to see the highly controversial bullfight show. Compromises were made; an arena was quick-built just outside the fairgrounds and the bullfighting was to be of the “sham” version. Journalists claimed that the fights were still very exciting despite the taming of “the horrible spectacle that characterizes” a true Mexican bullfight of the day. The potential for the fighters to be hurt ensured the attraction would still be one of the most talked about of the exposition, despite its final place outside the exposition walls. 

[6]

On October 3^rd, after visiting a few other cities along the way, Governor Gutierrez arrived at Atlanta to be welcomed by the exposition board, as the man who would be the most important Mexican attendee to the exposition. The governor was overwhelmed with the honor and friendship he received on his tour of America, never having been there before. The expectations he had of Atlanta were exceeded. Publicly, he had nothing but gratitude and hopeful anticipation for relations between the sister republics, although the newspaper could not even bother to spell the prominent governor’s name correctly. The ironic truth that the Governor so innocently described was that until the railroads had been built connecting the South to Mexico, to him, a place like Atlanta might have been as distant in geography and culture as Africa. Of further irony is part of a speech he gives concerning his American welcome where he claims that there is “no knife” that could sever the friendship between Mexico and America. Despite such obvious communication and desire for Mexican/American trade relationships, very little seems to have come from this particular fair in terms of Mexico. Nor were any stories printed about Mexico and the Cotton States and International Exposition more superfluous than those about the bullfights and sword fights. It seems that no matter how the Mexican and American governments wanted to partake in respectful and mutually beneficial relationships, some American people would only ever view their sister republic as “barbaric.”[7]

Thank you to History Librarian, Kristina Claunch and Newton Grisham Library at Sam Houston State University for the help in securing great resources toward this research project. Further mucho graçias to History Professor Dr. Charles Heath. Your encouragement, recommendations, and academic support have been so meaningful.

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The Latin American presence in the World’s Fairs evoked interest in international trade and commerce. Countries such as Cuba, Peru, and Venezuela participated as often as their political, social, and economic conditions allowed for it. Mexico’s participation in the World’s Fairs, had been prominent in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. “Latin American elite showed interest in the world’s fairs as early as 1851.”[1] (Schuster, 73). The world’s fairs had become a platform for the presidency of Mexican President Porfirio Díaz (1876-1911) to highlight Mexico’s advancement in industrialization and technology.

Pre-eminence at the World’s Cotton Centennial in New Orleans in 1884, the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, and the 1891 Exposition in Portland, Oregon, allowed Mexico to foster a presence which came to be prolific, if not, expected. However, at the 1897 Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition, which was held in Nashville, Mexico’s “signature,” notably its Eighth Regiment Cavalry military band, was absent. “Desaparecido en acción,” loosely translated, means “missing in action” in Spanish. Mexico’s participation at the 1897 Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition was limited, at best. Known for its cultural richness and social diversity, the Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition in 1897, etched its place into history as one of the only profitable world’s fairs held in the United States. “Tennessee was a hundred years old on June 1, 1896, and for four years before that, Nashville citizens had tried to get the project in motion.” [2] Undermining its deeply invested heritage was a darker, hidden side of the world’s fairs, in which race, space, and place, were pivotal in the social and political order of the Tennessee Exposition’s success.

The World’s Fairs were places of cultural and social diversity. They were educational and expositional in nature. Countries from all over the world rushed to not only host World’s Fairs, but to participate in the fairs by sending their goods, highlighting their exports, and profiting from their ultimate aim to be global-minded. Yet, there was often a darker, hidden side of these expositions. Blacks, for example, were not given a place of honor at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893. Africans, Asians, and Native Americans were put on display at the Exposition.

The Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition of 1897, was just one example of the burgeoning efforts to present the South as a society which overcame its notoriety as one which had succumbed to the “Lost Cause.” As diverse and culturally aware as the World’s Fairs organizers proposed to be, they were often extravagant events, where the race and ethnicities of attendees and participants were supposedly fluid, yet juxtaposed into adherent norms of the time. One of the Tennessee Centennial’s crowned accomplishments was that of the Negro Building. Built with a Spanish Renaissance style, organizers gathered some of the most well-known and influential African-Americans in the State of Tennessee to form a committee and discuss the content and theme of the Negro Building.

The Negro Building bridged the gap between African-American citizens of Tennessee and the paternalistic nature and goodwill of white organizers of the centennial celebration. (Cardon, 290). “Although the rhetoric surrounding the exhibits had a tinge of equality, the fairs' organizers in fact viewed the buildings as a way to demonstrate whites' guidance

of a supposedly childlike race.”[3] Race often played a factor in many of the displays and exhibits, and the overall organizational efforts of the World’s Fairs in southern states. The Jim Crow era was slowly emerging in the nation’s South in the late nineteenth-century, often at the bemoaning of African-Americans. “Jim Crow modernity was not a new idea—it was taking hold across the South—but at the expositions it was distilled into a consumable ideology.” [4] The ideology was laughable at times. “From Atlanta’s 1881 International Cotton Exposition to Nashville’s 1897 Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition, Southern aspirations built “solemn circuses.” [5]

Countries participated in the world’s fairs because the prospects of developing trade partnerships and access was crucial to economic growth. “Nations throughout Latin America both participated in and hosted a number of expositions in an effort to promote images of cultural modernity and industrial progress to international audiences.” [6] Latin American countries in general, and Mexico in particular, were no exception. Their governments clamored for a space at the table of the world’s fairs. Occupying a seat at the table presented by the world’s fairs was a transnational space with commercial and economic outcomes. Many of the world's fairs did not make a profit, although the Tennessee Centennial did. However, approximately forty-five world’s fairs were held in North America alone. (Goodstein, 132). The organizers of the Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition of 1897 were among those who knew that international trade was significant to the southern economy. “The 1893 fair launched a full-blown world’s fair movement in the United States. Following Chicago’s triumph, major international fairs were held in San Francisco (1894), Atlanta (1895), Nashville (1897), Omaha (1898), Buffalo (1901), St. Louis (1904), Portland (1905), Jamestown (1907), Seattle (1909), San Francisco (1915–16), and San Diego (1915–16).”[7]

The quest for a space in the movement, along with commercial aspirations, was at the forefront of Mexican policy and its participation in the world’s fairs. “Among the Latin American countries represented in the expositions, Mexico was the most important and consistent participant.” [8] Mexican President Porfirio Díaz had introduced a patriarchal view towards participation in world’s fairs by overseeing much of the exhibits which would be sent out. At the Tennessee Centennial, over sixteen nations had exhibits displayed throughout fairgrounds. “By 1889 Mexico had acquired some experience as a participant in world expositions, especially during the Porfirian peace.”[9] Porfirian peace was hard fought. “Following the disruptions of the Mexican war for independence, the disarray in the new country’s commercial system provided an opportunity for foreign merchants to become important elements at the fair.” [10]

Navigating space at the internationally diverse world’s fairs had to be strategic, not only physically, but politically. Mexico was economically recovering from its relatively recent war with the United States, which lasted from 1846-1848. Díaz knew that it was important for Mexico to recover its image on a global scale. Recent developments in Latin American countries saw many countries gaining their independence. Participation in world’s fairs fostered the opportunity for trade. “Held in every region in the country, the Tennessee Centennial was one of many fairs which were organized and served as powerful rationalizing forces in American life.” [11] The South, however, in its own paternalistic manner, felt that Latin American countries could take note on race relations, as they scrambled for economic recovery. “The Tennessee Centennial Exposition was similarly accused of being a segregated space.” [12] Interest in boosterism caused people like Clark Howell, who was interested in boosting the “New South,” felt that all of the Latin American countries, including Mexico, should overcome social and industrial woes that were pertinent to their independence. (Cardon, 87).

Mexico, which had enjoyed a relatively infamous reputation of its goodwill tours across the United States, with its Eighth Calvary Regiment Mexican band, and its experience at previous world’s fairs, was in a better space at the table of the world’s fairs than some of its Latin American counterparts. Historian Nathan Cardon, in A Dream of the Future: Race, Empire, and Modernity at the Atlanta and Nashville World's Fairs, posited that during the exposition in Atlanta, “the only official foreign building was the Mexico and Central America building.”[13] Of all of the buildings at the Tennessee Centennial Exposition, the Commerce building was the largest. (Cardon, p. 28). It housed the foreign exhibits. The Parthenon, a replica of the Greek Parthenon in Athens, was not only popular, but it is also the only remnant of the 1897 Tennessee Centennial which still stands today.

The Tennessee Centennial organizers repeatedly touted its exposition as the place to be from May 1, 1897 to October 30, 1897. With its fantastic light display and its advertisements about President William McKinley starting the celebration with a push of a button from the White House, the Tennessee Centennial planners mustered all of the pride and dignity it could to present its world’s fair as a place of modernity and progress. It was a site where a place could be reserved for innovation and technological advancement. Mexico was no different. Its government wanted to show the world that it had recovered from instability and was on the verge of a political and economic upswing. The world’s fairs provided the place to do just that.

Mexico’s presence at the Paris Exposition in 1889, for example, drew praise and criticism. Its Mexican pavilion was a display of an Aztec inspired building of which Mexican and European critics thought was too exotic. (Schuster, 83). The image of Mexico was important to President Díaz and its rightful place should be shrouded in cohesive nationalism. “Instead of propagating ‘whitening through immigration,’ as Brazil did at the world’s fairs, the Mexican exhibition organizers emphasized the importance of education.” [14] International audiences were the focus of many of the Latin American countries who had the opportunities to participate in world’s fairs. (Munro, 83). The ministry of Economic Development was responsible for the displays at the 1897 Tennessee Centennial in Nashville. (Tenorio-Trillo, 186).

Although Mexico had a building, its governmental officials did not curate the displays in the place that it was given. The University of Chicago’s Department of Anthropology ‘s Frederick Starr was responsible for that duty. (Cardon, 90). Among the artifacts were pottery and weapons which were touted as authentic Aztec weaponry, but according to G. P. Thruston, whose invaluable eyewitness to the items on display in the History Department’s building, stated in 1898, “Prof. Frederick Starr, of the University of Chicago, lent a case of rare terra cotta heads and objects of interest, discovered by him during his recent explorations in Mexico.” [15] Starr added his own personal items to the Mexican artifacts on display. The place of standard and control over its own exhibits, which Mexico maintained at previous world’s fairs, was non-existent at the 1897 Tennessee Centennial Exposition.

In conclusion, at the 1897 Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition, race, space, and place were viable characteristics of the events at its world’s fair. Mexico at the 1897 world’s fair in Nashville, Tennessee, was without its famous Eighth Cavalry Regiment band, there was no appearance by its President Porfirio Díaz, and there were no shouts of “Viva La Mexico!” Though Mexico did not represent with its normal fan-fare and notoriety, as it did at the Atlanta Cotton States Exposition in 1895, a few exhibits of pottery, “Aztec weapons,” and Mexican dancing girls on display at the Cuban Village, were all that was to be remembered of the Mexican presence at the Tennessee Centennial and International Exposition in 1897.

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The lights begin to dim, silent whispers rumble through the excited crowd around me. Lights flood the stage, smoke quickly cascades and ripples through the space. Percussions and woodwinds creep in crescendo, calling to centuries of culture, transporting us through time and space. Individuals march in unison filling the stage, guided by the music. The formation breaks and the cloths, patterns, and beads begin to shake, the trail to Mexicanidad begins to take shape, inhabiting each dancer. Each becomes a guide, an invitation. Welcome to The Ballet Folklórico de Amalia Hernandez, a manifestation of Mexican pride, folklore, and transformations.

The Cold War significantly influence global changes and international relations. One of the most important aspects of México’s cultural influence, which focused on the diplomatic and commercial was Ballet Folklórico. Ballet Folklórico was a key part of México's strategy for national liberation since it fostered goodwill, helped the country dismantle its third world status, and supported the country's economic and social independence.

Analyzing how Amalia Hernández formed unique creative concepts and performances is crucial to comprehending Ballet Folklórico's influence. Waldeen Falkenstein and Miguel Covarrubias, her closest mentors, believed in transforming México’s arts into contemporary representations of Mexican culture and pride. Falkenstein and Covarrubias recognized and cultivated Hernández to develop her choreography skills. They encouraged her to learn about Mexican folk traditions in order to depart from it and create new art work, a contemporary interpretation of Mexican tradition. Amalia Hernández, on the other hand, approached modern art with the intention of incorporating folk traditions.

Although there were conflicts among Mexican artists over issues of nationalism and aesthetics, when they represented México abroad, they joined together as a unified force. Performances overseas featured modern and folk choreography, the latter garnering greater attention. During the 1940s, the Mexican President praised Amalia Hernández' Ballet Folklórico for exhibiting emblematic elements of Mexican national culture. By the 1950s, this creative divide had become known as the "cactus curtain," a metaphor for the "iron curtain”. Surpassing the divide, Amalia Hernández permanently altered Mexican identity, cultural growth, and political interpretations.

Ballet Folklórico became an internationally recognized form of ballet and a revolutionary representation of diverse regional Mexican elements. Through its choreography and artistic expressions, it revolutionized both classical ballet and the traditional folk arts. The Mexican National Institute of Fine Arts supplied auspices to Ballet Folklórico, which helped the Amalia Hernández dance company attain fame on a global scale. The Ballet Folklórico dance group had achieved success in numerous international dance competitions by the middle of the 1960s, contributing significantly to México’s cultural identity.

The Cold War was a time of conflict involving capitalism and communism, principally between the US and the Soviet Union, but it also affected nations that were not directly involved in those hostilities. Developing countries that were neutral in the Cold War conflict between the US and the Soviet Union were affected differently; they bore the burdens that came with being classified as Third-World countries. The developing nations, who were stigmatized as belonging to the Third World due in part to their neutral attitudes during the Cold War, redirected their attention to national liberation. Third World nation-states that had been colonized or remained under the control of imperialist powers banded together through resistance and self- determination movements.

Under the leadership of the Bandung Conference in 1955, emerging nations, including Mexico, formed non-alliance organizations to avoid being subjugated by the opposing sides of the Cold War. Sovereignty, territorial integrity, nation-to-nation equality, non-interference in internal affairs, and peaceful coexistence were the guiding themes of the Bandung Conference. Through his activities both before and after becoming President, Adolfo López Mateos echoed this movement.

Along with advancements to industrialization, agriculture, and health programs, he signed a labor agreement with the United States. The United States-México labor treaty was drafted with his help as labor minister before to becoming president of México, making him particularly well-liked at the time. President Mateos was also well recognized for advancing industrialization, agrarian reforms, and public health initiatives during his presidency.

President Mateos deserves a great deal of credit for establishing México as a sought-after player on the global stage during his administration. The Latin American policy put forth by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933 is a part of earlier international relations between the United States and México. The policy sought for amicable relations and a ban on armed intervention between the states of the Western Hemisphere. Although these previously established ties existed between México and the United States, the transnational mobilizations of the 1960s gave rise to a bilateral framework that included domestic and international developments in México.

While supporting México's new global position, President Kennedy aimed to stifle Mexican internationalism. This was because México's dependence on the United States was advantageous for the United States economically, strategically, and diplomatically. Independence shook this firm grasp and alliance the U.S. aimed to keep. In order to highlight México's potential for tourism marketing, President Kennedy's itinerary to México was infused with abundant cultural imagery. His visit provided México with the ideal chance to promote its meticulously constructed tourism industry, built on important folkloric-cosmopolitan imagery.

None other than the Ballet Folklorico performances by Amalia Hernández were on President Kennedy's agenda. Despite winning international competitions and gaining international recognition, the Mexican Ministry of Tourism prioritized strengthening Mexico-US cooperation. As a result, the Mexican tourism industry transformed from a beach destination to one ready to showcase the thriving fine arts scene filled with varied traditional and modern characteristics.

Amalia Hernandez created Ballet Folklórico out of her passion for Mexican culture, customs, and modern dance. Mexico needed a vehicle to promote its culture abroad if it was to break free from its dependence on the United States and overcome its political and economic constraints. The international triumph of Amalia Hérnandez was not the only thing that changed for her or the Mexican culture. A nationwide rebuilding of how Mexican citizens were exposed to their ancestors' cultural practices, took place. Innovative choreography by Amalia Hernandez interprets local, political, and interpersonal folklore. Likewise, Mexico improved its sense of national identity, fine arts, tourism industry, and political ties.

I would like to thank Professor Charles Heath II for his guidance and encouragement throughout this project, as well as Research Librarian Kristina Claunch for producing and sharing valuable research guides.

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